Sunshine
by xenokattz
Summary: Sequel to Bloodlines. For the past eighteen months, Lois, Clark and Conner have become a family. Now there may be a way-- a very slight, possibly dangerous way-- for Lois to be pregnant with Clark's child. Meanwhile, Conner discovers unique growing pains
1. Chapter 1

_The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family. ~Thomas Jefferson_

_A family is a unit composed not only of children but of men, women, an occasional animal, and the common cold. ~Ogden Nash_

Three pairs of socked feet footsied on the top edge of the sectional. Clark lowered his briefcase carefully on the kitchen counter, trying to decide between clearing his throat and waiting for them to realize that they were no longer alone. In the end, Lois decided for him

"Good afternoon, Conner!" Lois slid her briefcase on the dining table.

Two pairs of feet-- one black with polka-dots and another pink with an embroidered athletic logo-- slid away with a duet of high-pitched squeals. The remaining grungy pair of blue-striped socks stayed right where they were as a blonde and a brunette righted themselves. "Hi, Ms. Lane, Mr. Kent." The two teenaged girls beamed in twin masks of innocence.

Clark coughed. "Hello, Tana, Roxy. Hello, Conner."

"Hi, Pops!" Conner finally deigned to sit upright. His hair, rebellious at the best of times, was a spiky nest undoubtedly the result of a lot of hair-fondling.

"So this is what a finals review group is like. Are you going over biology or health today?" Lois crossed her arms and smirked.

"Physics," said Conner. "Y'know, gravity and... stuff."

"I see. Gravity being the phenomenon that results in smaller bodies orbiting a much larger one?" Clark asked, his eyebrows arching over his thick-rimmed glasses.

"Much larger," the blonde, Roxy, murmured so softly that only Clark heard. The tips of his ears went hot.

"Riiight. Girls, are you staying for dinner? We're having Vietnamese tonight." Lois lifted two plastic bags of take-out.

Tana, the brunette, jumped to her feet. "It's dinner time already? Omigosh, my parents are going to kill me!"

"Let me help you get your stuff," Conner said, getting up to follow her.

"Thanks, _hoku_." Tana bussed his cheek.

Roxy stayed right where she was, looking as pleased as the cat that had a canary fly straight into her mouth. Whatever lecherous plans she had, however, were dashed when her cell phone rang. From the pleading and the snarling, it was obvious that her dad wanted her home as well. She left with a pout the size of Rhode Island.

Clark rummaged through the cupboards to keep from overtly spying on their good-byes. There was nothing like teenage hormones to make you feel your age. "Conner, dishes," he said as soon as the door clicked shut.

His son scratched at the painted sleeve tattoos on his arms. Unlike Superman, Superboy wore the hooded jacket and shades customary in the Justice League uniform. Even then, Clark wanted an extra layer of disguise, something subtle, like his glasses which Conner flatly refused. Bart suggested tattoos. In t-shirts and other short sleeved tops, Conner's inked up arms garnered the most attention, not his face. Superboy wore long sleeves and couldn't get tattoos anyway. Twice a month, Grace painted touch-ups at the Watchtower and no one in Metropolis commented on the appearance of one vaguely British Conner Kent coinciding with one Kon-el, unverified but obvious son of Superman.

Lois shed her office look for an untucked, loose-haired version while Conner zipped to the cabinetry and set to doing his chores. Plates, glasses and eating utensils clattered on the placemats in under five seconds. He slowed down with the drinks, setting a quart of milk each on two of the settings. "Smoothie, Aunt Lo?"

"Yes please," said Lois. "I really wish you'd stick to one girlfriend. It's unfair to play them off against each other."

"They're not my girlfriends," Conner said as he poured yogurt, juice and frozen fruits into a small blender. "We're just testing waters. They go out with other guys too. We're not, like, exclusive. Going exclusive is too serious for high school."

"This is where I stop myself from starting a sentence with 'when I was your age,'" said Clark.

"You were born forty," teased Lois.

Clark stuck his tongue out at her.

Grimacing, Conner poured the smoothie into a beer stein. "Uh, guys, no foreplay until _after_ I go to bed, put in my earplugs and smack myself with kryptonite so I can go into a nice, restful coma."

"By the look of things, if we hadn't come home when we did, you'd've outstripped us in that department."

"That mental image makes _me_ want a nice restful coma," said Clark. "I mean it, Conn, cool it down with those girls. Don't make us suffer through another sex talk. To this day, I can't eat bananas plain."

Conner went green. "Dude. I still can't stand grape juice. Why'd you have to get the flavoured condoms to use as props, Aunt Lo? That was so much not-want to slam into a poor, innocent freshman."

Shrugging, Lois said, "Hey, I just took whatever samples they had in the youth clinic. How was I supposed to know they advocated fellatio? Not to mention cavities."

"Lois!

"Aunt Lo!"

As Conner made retching sounds, Clark opened his quart of milk and took a healthy swig to clean out his mouth.

Lois laughed. "Too easy. Are you telling me that despite going through the entire female population of Ellsworth High in the past year and a half, this kind of conversation makes you uncomfortable?"

"There's a difference between talking to you about it and talking to my peers and please can we just eat dinner? I'm losing my appetite." Conner jabbed morosely at his pho.

"Alert the presses," said Clark.

"By the way, Dad, what happened to the bucket of cantaloupe sorbet that Aunt Lo was saving up for movie night?"

"That was you?" Lois squawked.

"Traitor." Clark glared at his smugly grinning spawn. "He had some, too."

Conner held his hands up to protest his innocence. "Two scoops, I had two tiny scoops! I had to hold up a boulder to help divert a mudslide. That requires energy."

Lois turned to her partner. "And what's your excuse, Smallville?"

"I actually diverted the mudslide."

"And Perry wonders why I need the pay-grade for my new editor position."

Conner paused in the middle of scooping broth. "You got the job?" Seeing their matched smiles, he leapt out of his chair and whooped. "You got the job! Way to go, Aunt Lo! It's about time you accepted Perry's offer!"

Lois gladly accepted his hug and another from Clark, her tenth one today.

"As if she didn't abuse me enough at home, now her job description is to abuse me at work." Clark sighed forlornly.

Conner paid no attention to his melodramatics. "What are we doing eating take-out? We should go to Grandma's for celebratory pie!"

"Most people go out to dinner to celebrate," said Lois.

"Most people don't have Grandma making pie."

"Point."

"Speaking of celebrations, what's this I hear about Superboy making an appearance at the grand re-opening of the Urban Styling store in exchange for wearing their custom shades?" asked Lois.

Clark instantly frowned. "Conner, we've talked about endorsements."

"It's not an endorsement, it's just---" Conner gesticulated, searching for proper terminology-- "a community outreach."

"I'd love to hear the explanation for this one."

Conner chewed his noodles thoughtfully before speaking. "Well, the creator of Urban Styling is from the Slums who did good and so by being there for the re-opening of the flagship store, I'm encouraging the pursuit for the American Dream and adding to business in Metropolis."

His father shook his head. "You're too smart. Chloe should have limited your exposure to sophism."

"Also the shades are totally awesome."

"And there goes your argument." Clark wagged his finger. "No attending the re-opening as Superboy and definitely no wearing their summer line-up."

"Dad!"

"No, Conn. We don't use our image for monetary gain."

"It's not even _my_ monetary gain; it's Urban Styling's!" Conner argued. "You make appearances at hospitals."

"A hospital is different."

"Why?"

"Because a hospital is for the community. Lois, help me out," Clark said, his frown deepening.

Lois put her hands up. "Hooo, no. You two aren't going to pull me into this argument again. I still have scars from the last time."

"The precedent is too problematic," Clark said. "Next thing you know, work will become affiliated with one industry or another. Then, if that industry is tied to a particular country's economy, we'll be financially obliged to prioritise that country's care."

Conner threw his hands up in frustration. "It's _one_ appearance at _one_ store that only teenagers shop at! It's not like we can start wars."

"You've never tried to buy new model sneakers the week before Christmas," Lois muttered.

"If you want, I can just be in and out."

"With a new pair of shades," said Clark.

"With a-- no! I can skip the shades. I'll just get socks. You can't see socks with the uniform."

"No, Conner."

"But, Dad--"

"No."

"Balls."

"Conner!" Both Lois and Clark admonished.

Conner turtlenecked. "Whoops, sorry. I'm sorry. I just... Fine, I won't go, okay?"

"Thank you for being mature about it," said Clark. In a deliberately light tone, he changed the subject. "I received a call from Dr. Swann today,"

After the fight against Luthor at the White House, Clark's first instinct had been to destroy all the information about Conner's beginnings. Lois had pointed out the importance of the files; if Conner fell ill or suffered unknown growing pains, the research could help. So, with reluctance, Clark handed copies of the information to Patricia Swann's S.T.A.R. Labs.

"So, what's our genderbent Mulder up to?" asked Lois.

Clark mumbled to his soup.

Lois and Conner leaned closer. "Say again?"

"They, uh... think they can fertilise a human egg with a kryptonian spermatozoon. So we can have children."

Conner clutched at his throat, his soup having gone down the wrong tube. Clark sprang behind him shouting, "Cough! Cough!" while Lois remained frozen. Vermicelli noodles slithered off her chopsticks and on the table.

"I'm fine," wheezed Conner. He coughed again for good measure; his colour returned to normal. "Crap. Just... never talk about your sperm or eggs again. Ever. Please. I can take on tornadoes and the Intergang but not that."

Clark now shifted his attention to Lois. "Sweetheart?"

She finally blinked.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I was just... y'know, the whole thing with... and then there's the stuff with, um... whoa, soy sauce--" She wiggled her fingers towards her belly.

With the same expression he used on hysterical rescues, Clark said, "Lois, Swann just told me and I thought you should both know about it. It's a wonderful breakthrough but if you don't want--"

"Hey, no, I'm totally for transparency. It just took me by surprise."

"You've been feeding the table," Conner pointed out.

Lois stopped. Indeed, a slippery pile of noodles sat at near her right elbow. "Okay, okay, Sherlockes, so it was a huge shock. After years of not wanting kids and not thinking we _could_ have kids, can you really blame me? Not that we don't want you, Junior--" she patted Conner's hand-- "but you're you and babies are little and poopy and their heads flop around like bobbleheads."

"Excess conjunctions," said Clark and Conner.

Lois threw her chopsticks at them. Conner stuffed his up one nostril.

"You're right, same arguments apply. I just wanted you both to know," Clark said. "Having a baby would be wonderful but I'm happy with the child we already have despite the fact that he has half a chopstick up his nose. Um, probably because the one we do have has a chopstick up his nose."

"But if it was in my ear, you'd have another?" Conner asked.

Clark picked up his own utensils then, for the sake of aesthetics, yanked out the one in Conner's nose. "Are you sure you're actually fifteen?"

"Only until December. No, but for serious. What argument? Why don't you two guys have kids? You've been together for, like, decades."

"Just one decade together," Lois muttered.

"But we've known each other for two," said Clark.

"Ugh, don't remind me! I'm seriously considering lightening my hair again with the rate that it's going grey. All your fault, by the way, Junior. I never had greys until you started dating half the teenage population in Metropolis. With Kansas barely toeing the sexual revolution even in the twenty-first century, I expect gay-bashings and shotgun weddings every other day."

"I'm not gay, I'm exploring my options," said Conner. "Besides, that's a conversational tangent. Avoidance of the subject at hand, id est, why don't you guys have kids?"

"I guess it's too difficult," Clark said slowly. His eyes flickered to Lois. "We both work too hard-- with me up half the night finishing manuscripts on top of articles while Lois..."

"Is dedicated?" she chirped up.

"…is recklessly obsessed with owning the journalistic world. Then there's the second job." Clark poked his soup.

"We never really thought it would be possible to conceive considering your dad's background," said Lois.

"And even if it was, it's too dangerous for Lois to carry a child to term."

"Lana did," Conner said.

"What _can't_ Lana do?" Lois muttered but she squeezed Clark's hand to show that she didn't really mean it.

"I dunno." Conner speared the last egg roll, stuffed it in one cheek and chewed. "I can just totally imagine it, y'know? Aunt Lo, coming home with the bacon. Dad in a lacy, purple apron, making bread. Six flying babies."

"An obedient son taking care of them all before he graduates high school and enters a monastery," Clark ended.

"You two are very mean to me."

"The verbal abuse is indirectly proportional to how much we love you, kiddo." Clark ruffled his son's hair.

**=^o.O^=**

Fridays were glorious. Fridays found Conner suited up in red and blue under his dad's old biker jacket as he ran to San Diego (managing an occasional rescue) then revved his surfrider all the way to the Watchtower. There he would stay all weekend with the rest of the freaks and geeks, fighting for truth, justice, and the freedom to wear ass-hugging clothing.

Superman often offered to fly him to the Watchtower, the metahuman equivalent of your dad dropping you off in front of the school in a minivan. Bad enough everyone called him Kon-el, thanks to his dad's paranoia. Only his dad's friends from high school, the first ones to came up with the whole idea for the Justice League, knew their real names. The rest believed Clark's real name _was_ Kal-el and, thus, Conner's was Kon-el.

Besides, just because he couldn't fly yet, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy going to work. He liked driving the surfrider. Something about the salt-water waves in his face, even in mid-ocean swells, appealed to him. Watchtower's mods on his 'rider helped, too, allowing long-distance travel, a GPS to avoid the really bad storms and short-distance submarine function.

In the distance, a speedboat of bikini-clad co-eds called for his attention. "Is that Superboy?"

"Ohmigod, Superboy!"

"Quick, where's my lipstick?"

"I love you, Superboy!"

Conner waved and swung the surfrider around, cresting a decent sized wave against the speedboat before pulling in next to them. The girls shrieked with delight. "Hello, ladies. I trust you're all licensed to drive a marine vehicle?"

The driver coquettishly leaned over. "And what if we don't?"

Pulling on a stern face, he said, "Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on a _thorough_ search of the premises."

They giggled. By the time he left, Conner had five emails beamed into his cellphone. Being a superhero rocked.

Watchtower, the Justice League's island base, wasn't so much a building on an island as it was an island reconstructed into a building. Using money donated by governments and private companies such as Wayne Enterprises and Queen Industries, the builders hollowed out certain rock formations and constructed around others, utilising as much of the island as possible. The design also provided some camouflage and security. Only three entrances existed-- the grand entrance at the south leading to the great hall, an aerial hangar for the fliers or the three Javelin jets, and a northern underwater port for the swimmers and underwater vehicles.

Conner manoeuvred around to the port, thumbing on the submarine option. An acrylic dome slid over his head as the handlebars lowered until he practically lay on his belly.

"Superboy here, Watchtower. You all ready for the party to start?"

Beastboy answered. "This is the Watchtower. Please sign in as per protocol or we will shoot."

Conner made a face. "Ha, ha, very funny. Open up the port."

"That is a negative on the proper protocol. Initiating hostile manoeuvres in T-minus three minutes."

"Give me a frickin'-- Fine! Watchtower, this is Superboy. Requesting permission for in to Whisky-Echo-Two, over." Conner felt very, very stupid.

"Acknowledged, Superboy. Vocal patterns check, visuals check; you are go for the in, over."

"Roger that, Watchtower. Thanks _so_ much for being a hard-ass. Is someone looking over your shoulder or something?"

"No!" Beastboy's denial was so vehement he had to be lying. "But, y'know, they're going to announce the field leader for Young Justice today. There's no harm in polishing up on protocol."

"Suck up."

"Slut. Watchtower out."

Conner surfaced inside the island, parked his surfrider beside two others and lashed it to the deck. His boots clanged on the grate-like steel flooring and up the stairs to the dock exit. He liked to run up stairs instead of using the elevators; there was absolutely nothing to do in an elevator and it wasn't like he got tired even after five flights of stairs.

He opened the door from the stairwell to the huge great hall, the largest room on the island. Carved out of a dome-shaped granite monolith three hundred feet high, the great hall was the showiest part of Watchtower. Aside from the geometric edging around the perimeter, the floor was the base of the monolith smoothed and polished. Whoever built the place also carved floor to ceiling windows glazed in thick, bullet-resistant polymers. Trophies, gifts presented to Justice League members and memorials to retired or fallen heroes hung from the walls and in artfully clustered acrylic cases. Conner passed a life-sized statue from Themyscira-- the goddess Hestia in marble humbly kneeling in front of a hearth with flames carved out of amber. Here and there, small groups sat in couches arranged around coffee tables. A few napped. He wove through them, waving to the few he knew well, avoiding Arsenal who still hated his guts after he accidentally called him the J-word. Junkie. He hadn't meant it in a bad way but he often had trouble stopping his mouth from running off. Yet another reason he probably wouldn't be field leader. Not that he wanted to.

Misty tendrils curled down from the ceiling, rapidly gathering into a more solid female form. Conner saluted. "Hi, Secret."

"Hi, Kon-el. You're unusually late."

"Beastboy was a pain at the monitors and made me do the whole professional calling in thing." He rolled his eyes.

Secret fell in step-- or in float-- with him, hands clasped behind her back. "Who do you think the new team leader will be?"

"Robbie, of course."

"Robin? But he just registered last year."

"And totally kicks ass. I love Wondergirl, you know that, but she's not leader material."

Secret frothed. "What does that mean?"

Conner held his hands up, a sign of peace. "We're exactly alike, me and Wondy. We're action people, not planning people."

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't be good at it!"

"'Course not, she totally kicks ass, too. But Robin's idea of fun is being Robin and his idea of work is being Robin. He's, like, a heroing geek."

"I prefer the term 'covert extra-legal police enforcement enthusiast.'" As always, Robin appeared silently. Conner couldn't wait for his super-hearing to kick in.

"Hey, Robin. Is that a new utility belt?" Secret's misty tendrils curled around Robin's shins.

"Uh, no. I just had to disassemble, clean, restock and repack it last night. Proper care of a utility belt maximises efficiency and decreases mistakes on the field."

Secret giggled. "What's in this pocket?" She poked at his hip.

"Shuriken."

"What about this one?"

"Smoke bombs."

"This one?"

"Rebreather."

"This one?"

Robin flushed. "Uh… that's, uh, not a pocket. Superboy, can I have a private word with you in one of the meeting rooms? See you in a few minutes, Secret."

Conner snickered as he followed his teammate to the east wing. "Dude, you totally missed your chance."

"Fraternizing during duty isn't professional."

"You're so frickin' red, your face matches your shirt."

Robin continued to stalk down the hall.

"Are we actually going somewhere to talk or are you just hiding from Secret?"

"I'm not hiding, I'm being diplomatic."

"She's cute," said Conner. "I mean, there's the whole ghost thing which may or may not be necrophilia not to mention hella inconvenient for making out but it's not like you flirt with anyone else around here. She digs you hard like a backhoe."

"Contrary to popular belief, the Watchtower isn't a dating pool for superheroes."

"It's not? Kidding, Robbie. Hey, knock-knock."

Robin sighed. "No, Superboy. I will not enable your poor sense of humour."

"It's a good joke, I swear."

"It's a knock-knock joke."

"It's a _good_ knock-knock joke."

"That's an oxymoron."

Conner clutched his chest. "Hey, no need for name-calling, Baby-Bat. Come on: knock-knock."

"Fine." They turned a corner, nodding to Black Canary. "Who's there?"

"Daisy."

"Daisy who?"

"Daisy sleep; nights, he fights crime." Conner chuckled and slapped his leg. "Okay, how about this one: knock-knock."

"Kon, please stop. Your jokes suck."

"Just one more before we have to be all serious and Young Justice-y. Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

"Pyjama."

"Pyjama who?"

"Pyjamas around me and hold me tight."

Robin stopped and slapped his face with his hand. "There is no superlative in the English language to describe how much that one sucked."

"It's so bad it's good."

"No, it's just bad."

"If you really hated it, you'd use those badass Bat-ninja moves to knock me out."

"I've thought about it but I have to do more research into kryptonian pressure points."

Conner was pretty sure he was joking. Robin didn't talk to many people. Okay, he talked to Arrowette and ordered everyone else around. Conner had to yank normal conversation out of him; that couldn't be normal.

One of the green doors opened. Wondergirl stuck her head out. "There you two are. We're about to start."

Conner smiled and winked at her. She returned the smile, kind of sheepishly.

Robin slipped in between them, breaking the eye-contact. "Sorry, Kon was telling knock-knock jokes," he said.

The entire group winced except Ted Kord. "I like his jokes."

"You would," said Green Arrow.

Arrowette cleared her throat. Tall, athletic, and fair-haired like her father, Green Arrow, but with a more serious demeanour, she led the team with an even hand. She had few rules but little patience for anyone who broke them. Conner broke formation once resulting in injury to a civilian and she had him drilling in The Kitchen for twenty-four hours straight. The pizza and Zesti she had for him just barely made up for it. He spent half a day napping in the sun to recharge.

Robin sat at Arrowette's right, as always. Those two had always been tight; everyone thought they dated off-duty. Conner flopped on the chair next to Robin. Secret pouted when she saw Wondergirl already at Arrowette's left and Ray, beside Wondergirl. By force, she had to take the seat beside him, two whole seats away from Robin. Beastboy ran in from monitor duty to sit at the foot of the table between Conner and Secret. Today's meeting also included Ted Kord, resident JL engineering genius, and Green Arrow.

Arrowette folded her hands on the table. The entire room quieted. "Thank you," she said then nodded to Green Arrow. "We can start now."

"Let's begin with what's on top of everyone's minds," said Green Arrow. "As you all know, Arrie's retiring at the end of the month to pursue civilian life so you're going to need a new leader. We've watched you all for a month now, on the field and off--"

"Off?" Robin repeated.

"Meaning training and in non-combative uniform," Green Arrow said. "Bat-family secrecy remains intact. Anyway, after a month of observation and Arrie's recommendations, I'm happy to announce that the new Young Justice leader is Robin."

Conner was first to jump up. "Woo-hoo! Way to go, Robbie!" Applause soon followed as Beastboy reached to shake Robin's hand. Secret twirled around him in puffy clouds.

Arrowette clapped her hands. "Green Arrow told me the decision between the two top contenders, Robin and Wondergirl, was very difficult. Congratulations, Robin."

Robin stood. "Thank you for the honour, but I really don't think I can accept."

"Why not?"

"My first priority will always be to Gotham City. And besides, I'm the newest one here. Shouldn't seniority count?"

"I'll be more than happy to explain my decision to you and Wondergirl as soon as possible. First, you have a mission. I'll let Arrie and Ted debrief. Congratulations again, Robin. I hope you accept the position." Green Arrow patted his shoulder as he left the room.

Arrowette prepped the video screen as everyone settled down. "Three sinkholes appeared at 0915 in Krysybestan in Central Asia. They were seven feet in diameter and, from satellite estimates, one mile deep. Now, four hours later, the sink holes are ten feet wide and three miles deep. The area around the holes have been scorched; residents say it smells like brimstone. Flashes of light have also been reported coming from one of the holes. The local military has the entire area, approximately five acres of land, quartered off and have asked for our assistance in case the source of these sinkholes proves to be meta in origin. Ted will come with us to research any machines we may need with the situation. Superboy--"

Conner snapped out of his slump. "Yep?"

"You speak Russian, right?"

"Da, and as an added bonus, I can order any kind of vodka you need."

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Unnecessary but thank you." A smile played on her lips. "The jet leaves in thirty minutes. I'll see you all in The Kitchen for warm-up until then."

* * *

_Secret's dialogue is a tribute to __RandomGuy and RandomGal's wonderful work.__ Check them up in the YouTube Channel - ItsJustSomeRandomGuy_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Fridays were horrendous. As if Clark didn't have enough to catch up on with his Wednesday to Saturday shift at the Planet, he also worried about Conner's League shift. Telling the world about his weakness to kryptonite to ease fears seemed to be a good idea at the time. He knew the pain of kryptonite poisoning; what if someone used it against Conner again? Worse, what if no one could get him away in time? Memories of Luthor's attack choked him every weekend, rarely easing until he found Conner's voice or pulled duty beside him. This father business sucked sometimes. Clark wondered if kryptonians could have heart attacks.

Then there were the meetings. Not the Planet meetings, the Justice League meetings to update as many members as possible on scheduling conflicts, new business and an ever growing list of protocols. Not that Clark minded those either. He was glad for them; with the League's growing numbers and public fields of influence, it was important to have regulations. He just wished he didn't have to interact with certain members of the League, especially the ones who liked the colour black and lived with rodents.

To say he and Batman didn't get along would be optimistic. More accurately, the entire Watchtower held its collective breath when the two men were in the same room at the same time. Usually, Clark let it slide. He had plenty of practice ignoring rude, arrogant, borderline sociopaths when the Daily Planet coffee machine ran out of dark roast and Lois was on a deadline. He could even momentarily set aside his concerns about Batman's tactics which were quick but dangerous. What he really, _really_ hated was how badly the man treated everyone else in the League. No one outside of his little clan of highly trained, highly disturbed operatives were worthy of anything more than a grunt. Clark himself warranted even less than that.

He slid into the meeting room, late as always, and grabbed the nearest seat. Smiling at Vixen, who looked shell-shocked, he asked, "What did I miss?"

"Erm, Diana needs an attaché if she's going to continue to serve as rep to the UN. Interviews start tomorrow. The, um, side damage we inflict is down five percent but Ollie wants it much lower so we're all, um, supposed to practice with that in mind. And, um, oh wow, I'm sorry. You must get this all the time but you're really quite good-looking. Can I have your autograph?" asked Vixen.

Clark blushed. "Oh. Uh, sure. I guess after the meeting?"

"If Vixen and the alien are talking, the rest of the meeting must be inconsequential." Batman stood up, throwing the words, "Send me a summary" over his shoulder as he left the room.

Diana sighed as Ollie rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry for interrupting," said Clark, now beet red.

"I think the rest can be sent on the messageboard," said Diana. "Let's adjourn and if anyone has any questions, just post it."

He stayed behind when everyone else departed. "I really am sorry. Vixen was just catching me up."

"I know," Ollie said. "Bruce is just being a dick, as always."

"Remind me why you nominated him into the League?"

"Because he's damned good at what he does."

"Because it's better to have him as an ally than an enemy," said Diana. "He has served for longer than I. The new ones who train with him are sharp on the battlefield and with investigations. I do not even wish to imagine how the League would function without Nightwing and Robin's contributions."

"He's usually just a cantankerous old fart with everyone else but I think he actively hates you," said Ollie.

"Joy. I'd like to thank the Academy, God and my mother for the privilege of his undiluted rancour." Clark finished off his coffee. "So, you need an attaché?"

Diana nodded. "I do not have the time for research if I am to work with the League as well. The best option would be a civilian, preferably one from a country as neutral as possible. However, he or she would have to be privy to at least some aspect of the League."

Ollie stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Most of the members agreed we could arrange something similar to the suppliers' agreement. Are you okay with that?"

Sometimes, Clark felt guilty about his special circumstances. Everyone else in the League offered real first names at least. Diana didn't even bother with a secret identity. Then he remembered everything he grew up with, from Lex's obsessions to government agents and he knew there was no other way to protect his family. "I trust you two to come up with something agreeable. I noticed the kids aren't here today."

Chuckling, Ollie said, "Your boy's fine, Kal. I sent them on a recon in Central Asia. You can go home with your mind at ease. We'll call if we need you."

"I can follow them if they need support."

"Go home, Kal-el."

He did but he wasn't at ease. Lois, sitting beside him on the couch, said, "I can hear you worrying."

Clark snorted.

"I can. You're thinking 'How will my kid survive if I'm not there to hold his hand?' whereas I'm thinking 'Why the heck should I care about the phenomenal death rate of the common honeybee when I have my hot hick boyfriend in an empty apartment?'"

"Not hold his hand, per se, maybe just hover over-protectively and slip a leash over his head. We _are_ talking about the boy who has Batman boxers."

"Maybe he's wearing them ironically." She peeked over his shoulder and read the title off his screen. "'Tetragenic transfer of kryptonite-generated mutations: health and well-being of second-generation metahumans.' I thought you finished your meteor-gifted manuscript."

"It's not for the book. I was just interested."

"Because everyone reads Ph.D. dissertations for fun."

Clark grinned. "Well, I do."

"Nerd." She climbed over the backrest so her chin rested on the crown on his head and her arms and legs draped over his shoulders. The Kawatche soulmate bracelet pressed against his collarbone. He'd given it to her the third time he proposed.

"There's plenty of couch."

"But I want my squishy." She squishied briefly. "So they think kids with one meta parent have a greater chance of being healthier and having more stable powers than kids with two meta parents."

"That's the theory. The baseline genes from the non-meta parent seem to normalise the child's chromosomes. However, a concurrent study shows a decrease in incidence of mortality in infants of two metahuman parents compared to those that only have one meta parent."

"So the kids are physically more stable but only if they make it past their first birthday." Lois whistled. "That's a tiny sample size, although I guess it would be hard to find people who'd admit to being meta, anonymous interview or not. Pretty dark entertainment reading."

Clark shrugged. "Strange the things you google, huh?"

He read the incredulity in her eyes but she only slid off the backrest. "Get back to work, Smallville. I don't care how hot you are, I'm still your boss and you're on the clock."

"Slavedriver."

"Slacker."

"Nag."

"Hick."

He lowered his glasses. "So, I'm hot, huh?"

"But also a hick. Never forget that part. It gets me all randy-like."

"I thought I had to be wearing plaid for you to get hot and bothered."

"You had a plaid tie on at work this morning. I kept thinking about it." She kneed his computer away so she could climb into his lap. "And the things I wanted to do with it especially with the kid away for the weekend."

Clark slid his hands from her waist to her hips, his thumbs stroking the crease where her pelvis met her thighs. "Are you talking about noisy sex?"

"Yes! Remember that?"

"Vaguely. As I recall there was a lot of moaning, swearing, the odd kick at the wall and an occasional plea to God."

Lois meaningfully stared into his eyes. "Which, in my benevolence, I answe-- aaah! Clark! No tickling!"

But he was merciless. "Laughing counts as noise."

"So do crotch farts! Not the armpits, not the---" Lois screeched, curled into a defensive ball and promptly fell off the couch, howling with laughter.

Crawling on top of her, he said, "I like our crotch farts."

"You would, you crazy alien pervert." She began to uncurl. "No tickling."

"No more, I promise." He kissed her to seal the vow. Her arms and legs came around his neck and waist. Heat flashed through his body, his fingertips and toes tingled with it. He loved kissing Lois. He loved her breath on his cheek. He loved how she hummed right before settling in his arms the same way she hummed on that first bite of roast beef before digging in. He loved how every stroke of her tongue on the roof of his mouth sent goosebumps across his shoulders and down his arms. "Sing for me, sweetheart?"

Groaning, Lois buried her head in Clark's neck. "You have a fetish."

"It's only fair. You know one of my deepest, darkest secrets. I like hearing yours." Light as silk, he drew whorls around her back. "Sing me something."

"You are mah suuunshiiine, mah only suuunhiiine. You make me haaappyyy when skies are greeeey," Lois warbled in a nasal parody of country music.

He dumped her off his lap. "Not like that!"

"You didn't specify."

"I'll show you specific," he said, zeroing in on her ribs.

Lois squirmed and screamed. "You promised no more tickling!"

"Only if you sing properly."

"That wasn't in the negotiatio--aaahhh! Stop tickling!" She pummelled him with her hands and feet but Clark pinned her down well and he wasn't going to let up until she gave in. "I h-h-hate you, Smallville!"

"No, you don't. You think I'm hot." He paused. "Sing for me now?" When her eyes narrowed, he said, "I've made you pee your pants before, Sailor."

Slugging his arm, she said, "I can't sing with you sitting on top of me."

Clark immediately rolled off, carrying her up to sit on his lap. "Well?"

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey." Lois sang with a husky alto, the type of voice best suited for intimate pubs in a fireside performance with only one or two instruments maximum to harmonise. The first time he heard her, they were only housemates and she'd thought their apartment had been empty. Even through the bathroom door, he'd been entranced. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

"You're so beautiful," he said, pulling her shirt over her head. "You make everything perfect, you know that, Lane?"

"Damn straight. You're not too nasty yourself, ET."

"You know, there are advantages to having a child."

Lois stopped singing to ask, "Hmm?"

"With some people, spontaneous sex is special. With us, it's a way of life."

"Only until Conner's hearing kicks in; then we'll have to give up sex forever."

Clark snorted. "Not an option. He'll have to learn to unhear us."

"Kinky, perverted, alien hick."

"Kinky, perverted alien hick lover."

"Damn straight."

She rubbed her knuckles down the groove of his spine. Clark's eyes rolled to the back of his head. His elbows trembled.

"I love Fridays."

* * *

Occasionally, the JL actually let them work big jobs. Conner even threw punches. But most of the time, they did security detail, soft recons and other mild missions. Their ages were factors, true, but some people had been training for this for years. Arrowette owned her first real bow in kindergarten. Robin was a freakishly smart detective type like all Bats. Wondergirl channelled Olympian gods. Their qualifications deserved better than staring at giant holes in the Asian countryside.

Then again, occasionally, giant holes in Asian countrysides had alien-looking pods inside.

Conner rappelled down the side of the hole. Who knew where they found three-mile long steel cables? Secret floated slowly down with him. They were the least likely to be hurt and thus almost always scouted. "See anything yet?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said. "It really smells though."

"Ghosts can smell?"

"When it's this bad, we can. Whew! You're going to have to burn your clothes after this."

"At least I didn't wear my jacket. No dry-cleaner on earth could get this smell out."

The sulphuric, slightly rotten-egg smell increase with every flash of the mysterious light. The time between flashes had grown shorter since they entered the hole. Luckily, only this one had any activity or, Conner thought, the entire country would have to be quarantined and Febreezed.

At two miles, Conner had to put on a mask to keep from retching. Not much later, he finally spotted the source of the flashes.

"I hope that's not a coffin."

Secret drifted down faster. "Maybe I can help whatever it is to go across."

"_If_ aliens go to the same afterworld. That is totally not human made. The materials are off-world."

"You can see that clearly from there?"

"I've been practicing. The shape is very, very weird. Roswell weird. Hang on, let me catch up."

He landed with a thump on the pod-like object. It sounded solid under his feet; the impact only produced a dent six inches deep. The flashing light came from an open seam along one rounded side. The opening creaked wider with every flash and, squinting, Conner thought he saw a shadowy figure inside.

"Can you see anything in there?" Conner asked Secret.

"I'll dip a toe in," she said. Her toe, then her leg and eventually her entire body melted into a diffuse mist which crept into the pod's opening. Conner stepped to one side, keeping a hand out to shade his eyes from the light.

His commelink buzzed. "What's going on in there?" asked Arrowette.

"Secret's scouting the pod. We thought we saw moving shadows in there," Conner replied. "She hasn't come up yet so--"

Secret burst through the side of the pod, screaming, "Run!" as she rocketed out of the pit so fast she lost all solidity. Conner took half a second to look back at the pod. In that half-second, a powerful yellow-orange bolt shot him in the shoulder. Surprised, he wheeled back against the wall.

"Superboy, report!" Arrowette's voice crackled over the commelink as a large-knuckled, long-nailed hand gripped the edge of the pod's opening.

"It's alive," said Conner. "It's aliiive!"

"What's alive? Report properly for the-- just get _up_ here already before Secret pops an ectoplasmic blood vessel!"

Another hand reached out to grasp at the edge of the pod's lip. The fingers shook. Curious, Conner took a half-second more to study the figure. In that half second, it-- she-- popped out of the pod like a jack-in-the-box, wielding a rod-shaped weapon. This time, Conner dodged the bolt. He sprang half-way out of the sinkhole.

"Whoever's in there is armed," he told Arrowette. "I think there's only one though."

"You had visual contact?" asked Arrowette.

Rubbing his injured shoulder, he said, "You could say that."

He frog-jumped the rest of he way up, punching handholds into the walls as he leapt. Below him, the pod shifted, the light a steady beam now.

Beastboy, in snake form, wrapped his body around Conner. Someone else pulled and they all popped out of the sinkhole, scrabbling for purchase on the ground. "Is it close?" asked Beastboy.

"Unless she can jump as good as me, no."

A black and olive blur popped out of the hole and rolled to a ready stance.

"Okay, she can jump as good as me."

"YJ scramble into formation!" Arrowette yelled. She and Wondergirl swung around to surround their mark. Secret spread herself into a wide fog before her. Conner and Beastboy froze. Robin faltered. "Formation!" Arrowette repeated, louder.

"Uh, she's nekkid," Beastboy pointed out.

"That just means she doesn't have armour!" Wondergirl said. She threw her lasso. Ordinarily, it would have looped easily around her target's shoulders and, as she gave it a pull, blasted fifty-thousand volts, the equivalent of a taser. But the woman was fast; she ducked to one side. The rope flopped uselessly on the ground.

Frustrated, Wondergirl pulled her throwing arm back. Before she reeled the entire length in, Robin performed a perfect base-stealing skid, catching the rope and looping it around Nekkid Woman's ankle in one smooth move. Nekkid Woman failed to notice the rope. Instead, she swung a muscle-bound leg at Robin's throat. He tried to dodge the kick but it caught him in the ribs, sending him arcing ten feet up. Conner leapt and caught him in mid-air.

"Thank you for flying Air El. Would you like some complimentary peanuts?" he asked.

"If we can take her weapon away, we can slow her down," said Robin. "Do you think you can whiz close enough for me to grab her rod?"

Conner raised an eyebrow. "Robbie, my man, when you grow up, you'll find out that girls' wee-wees are different from boys' wee-wees and--"

"_Superboy_."

Conner should have landed with his knees bent, pounding a dip into the hard-packed earth. It should have been relatively uneventful; he'd made similar landings for three years now. This time, as the ground gave way under his boots, he felt a thick, slick _something_ tear away from his shoulders and slip down around his ankles. He threw Robin off prematurely as the sensation made goosebumps rise on his skin. He'd never had goosebumps before either. He glanced at his arms. Nothing there. He swiped at it. Still nothing.

Arrowette ran towards Nekkid Woman, nocking and releasing arrows with near-meta speed and accuracy. The woman batted each one away, much to Arrowette's frustration, and dodged Robin's pellets as well. Yards away, Wondergirl shook the dust off her thighs and charged again, lasso over her head. Conner ran in, forcing himself to ignore the strange sensation all over his body. Now it felt like he had blobs of thick, slick stuff trailing behind him even as he tried to swat it away. Whatever it was, he either dreamed it up or it was invisible because there was simply nothing there!

He looked over his shoulder-- Beastboy was at his five o'clock, morphed into a green elephant. The other boy drew close. And tripped.

Beastboy the elephant trumpeted a swear word as he tilted towards Arrowette. Wondergirl changed her throw; her lasso looped around Arrowette, pulling her out of the way in the nick of time. "What the hell, Beastboy?"

"I tripped!"

"Over wha-aaat!" Wondergirl's flight path jerked to a stop. A small spark scraped her middle then she was tossed out the same direction she came from.

The thick, slick thing crawled up Conner's spine as he continued to plough towards Nekkid Lady.

Robin held his hand up. "Stop. Her weapon must have repulsive beam. We can't charge her or the same will happen with-- cut that out, Kon!"

"I'm not doing anything," Conner said.

Glaring, Robin said, "Now is not the time to smack me upside the head.

"But I didn't." The thick slick thing now seemed to bounce on and off his body. "I think she's got me in the beam thingy."

"She's not even pointing it at you."

"Then what the hell-- I can't get rid of this feeling like my skin's made of silly putty and someone's yanking on it." He shrugged his shoulders.

An explosion blew Robin off his feet. Fortunately, the younger boy tucked into a roll in mid air and landed without injury. Conner didn't see the Nekkid Woman point her weapon at him but he did see a brilliant white flash.

His entire body screamed. He may have actually screamed too but not for long. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Heaven knew Clark tried not to be an annoying father. He read all the teen parenting books. He kept up-to-date on all the teen parenting websites. He watched an occasional TiVo'd episode of Oprah. He dug through his extensive, detailed memory banks to recall What Would Jonathan Kent Do in certain matters. Even then his results were less than satisfactory; he delivered it all wrong. But then when your son returned from a mission in Krysybestan with his shirt soaked in dried blood, of course you'd have flashbacks from a scant eighteen months ago when a kryptonite-based laser bored a hole through his abdomen. He didn't think he over-reacted at all.

"Dad, I'm fine! Stop tucking me into bed!"

"If you would stay in bed, I wouldn't have to keep tucking you in," said Clark.

"I'm _fine_. Look." Conner lifted his shirt up. "I'm healed. I don't even have scars any more. _Please_ let me at least sit up to play a video game."

Clark considered it only for a second. "No, you could relapse."

"Relapse? From a scrape across my chest?" He covered his face with his arms. "I bet Robin doesn't have to put up with this bullshit."

"Robin works for a psychopath. A brilliant, mostly morally-correct psychopath but a psychopath nevertheless. And it wasn't a scrape, it was a gouge. I thought you'd like staying in bed all day."

"Yeah but usually I do something besides grow bed sores." Outside the room, the bathroom door clicked open. "Oh thank God. Save me, Aunt Lo! Dad's being crazy again."

Lois peered around the doorway. Her hair dripped on the floor. "You're complaining about staying at home?"

"He. Tucked. Me. In."

Clark crossed his arms. "I'm not going to take any chances on your health, Conner. This conversation is over. Schedule the renegotiations for dinner time."

"Fine. Want to pop a pacifier in my mouth while you're at it?" Conner huffed. He, too, crossed his arms.

Ten minutes later, three blocks from the _Daily Planet_, Clark still muttered in exasperatedly. "Just a recon. Ha! Remind me to maim Ollie the next time I see him. He thinks he's invulnerable! He's strong but there's no such thing as invulnerable. You think he'd know that after what happened two years ago."

"He's fifteen. We all thought we were invulnerable then," said Lois. "Of course, he has more of a reason than most to think that."

"Even I know when to rest-- what's that supposed to mean?"

"What?"

Clark gestured with his coffee hand. "That snort. What does that snort mean?"

"That was karma-is-a-bitch snort," Lois said, primly sipping her coffee.

"I rest when I need it!"

"Ha! Don't make me start listing."

"When do I not rest?"

"You know, that's a great question. Ask me again if I ever actually see you sleep between your two jobs."

Clark reddened. "That's different. Conner's just a kid."

Softly, Lois said, "What were you doing when you at that age? And don't lie 'cause I can call your mom and verify."

He sighed and pushed at the _Planet's_ revolving doors. "I was never that reckless."

"I call bullshit, Smallville." They waved at the receptionist and continued to the elevator, nodding to familiar strangers working on the other floors. "You can't punish him for doing the exact same stuff you did when you were his age. At least he's trained _and_ he's got back-up."

"Fat lot that back-up did for him. I'm not punishing him; I'm looking out for him."

"To Conner, not being out of the house for three days is punishment, no matter how much he got to sleep in."

"He was bleeding!"

"He was bleeding three days ago. He's all right now. Thirty-three, please," Lois told the closest person to the panel.

Clark caught the eye of a woman who always reminded him of his mother and smiled in apology for their raised voices. "My son went out with his friends Friday and came home injured."

"He's fifteen. Fifteen year old boys get injured," Lois added.

The woman exhaled knowingly. "My boy's exactly the same way. I tell him there are kids his age out there fighting wars without helmets and he goes and skateboards down stairs without one!"

"My daughter does BMX," piped a balding man on the other corner. "She's broken her arm so many times, she might has well have a robotic one with all the rods and screws in there."

"I'm effectively letting him laze around in bed," said Clark, "and he's _still_ complaining that it's unfair."

The crowd murmured in sympathy as the doors slid open. Five people left, two entered.

"But, you know, they're just being teenagers," said the balding man. "They're testing their boundaries, trying to figure out what kind of adults they're going to be--"

"If my boy keeps going the way he is, he's going to be living in my basement eating Doritos until he's forty," said a newcomer. "How old is yours?"

"Fifteen," said Clark and five other elevator riders. They stopped on the twelfth floor; two passengers left.

"That's still young enough for the old parenting tricks to work," said the first woman.

"We don't have parenting tricks. We watch Dog Whisperer reruns though, does that count?" asked Lois.

"He's only started living with us a couple years ago," Clark explained.

Another chorus of knowing groans spread through the elevator. "Man, shared custody sucks."

"Well, his mom passed away and, coincidentally, I'm his mom's cousin so it kind of worked out." Twenty-four wide eyes stared at them. Lois grimaced. "We came from a small town."

"So you've never had your own babies?" asked the first woman.

"Nope. The timing was never right."

"Until now," Clark added as an after-thought.

Lois stared at him.

"What?"

"So you admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"You." She poked his chest. "Want a baby."

Clark jaw dropped. "I... what? Where did that come from?"

"There was that call from the lab five days ago that you just _happened_ to talk about at dinner and the random fertility research. Plus your frustrated nesting with Conner. Now, you're introducing it again into random conversation."

The elevator opened. This time, ten people left.

"I didn't introduce it; you did," said Clark. "And yes, I do want a baby--"

"Ha!"

"-- but not at the risk of your health."

"You're just making an excuse. The lab said they might be able to--"

"_Might_ doesn't mean _can_. Lois, we've talked about this before and I'm fine without having any more children, really."

"Your words aren't matching your tone."

"You sound like my mother."

"We talked about this after you came back from your world trip twenty years ago," Lois said.

"That doesn't meant the arguments are no longer valid."

"Let's see the arguments were as follows: we weren't together, we were both broke interns, we both juggled two jobs and it was all normal, platonic, best friend talk. Wow, look, that's all different now."

"This isn't about _me_ wanting a baby. This is about _you_ wanting a baby."

Lois gasped. "No way. You are not projecting your biological clock on me, bucko. You tucked a fifteen year old boy into bed."

"You brought it up, you're the one who's agitated."

"Because I hate it when you--" she waved her hands wildly, searching for the proper word. "--obfuscate. I'm the one who has to deal with you falling into the depths of despair every time you see a big yellow school bus."

Clark glared. "I do not mope--"

Lois jangled her cellphone in front of his nose. "I can call your mother about that, too. Now, _now_ when they have the technology, after years of passive-aggressiveness you're not going to take advantage of it?"

Clark threw his hands up. "There's no guarantee."

"Life has no guarantee!"

The doors opened to the mid-level chatter of the bullpen. The balding man and Dorito boy's mother slunk out. Oblivious, Lois and Clark stomped out of the elevators and towards their desks.

"You're not going to let me win this argument no matter what happens so forget it. I refuse to let your weird brain mess with my day." Clark stomped out of the elevator. "And I do not obfuscate."

"You are the master of obfuscation. It's like this whole wooohoo - I'm - such - a - nice - guy - please - read - my - puppy - dog - eyes - and - magically - understand - what - it - is - I want - from - you - without - my - saying - a - word."

"As if your flailing denial is better? Maybe if you say it loudly enough, everyone else will believe whatever it is that you want them to believe because sometimes, you hate acknowledging a truth about yourself."

"I _love_ the truth!" Lois yelled.

"Then just admit it," Clark said curtly. "You want a baby, too."

"Fine! I do!"

"Fine! Let's have one!"

"Fine! We will!"

"Congratulations," said Perry as he stood in front of the office doors. "It's only seven in the morning and you've both pissed me off. Lane, Kent, my office and, by God, if you two use it or any other room in this building to get started on that baby of yours, I will fire your asses so quickly, it'll take Superman to put it out."

"Wouldn't that be a shame," Clark muttered before entering the editor's office.

"I heard that, Smallville." Lois hollered as she followed him in but before she sat down, she winked at Perry. "God, I love my guy."

"Heaven help the ones you hate," said Perry. He slammed the door shut.

Thanks to conflicting schedules and a robbing spree, Lois and Clark couldn't fly up to New York City until July two weeks later. It wasn't Lois' first visit to S.T.A.R. Labs; she saw Patricia Swann at least once a year for a check-up Lois half-jokingly called the ET's Lover's Physical. She didn't know what they looked for-- maybe they thought sexing up an alien transferred powers or gave off radiation or something. No pelvic she'd had pre-Clark required a Geiger counter. Whatever the case, she didn't mind too much because the same nurse practitioner examined her for the past ten years and the woman knew well enough to warm the ducklips and put plenty of lube before the inspection.

Clark squeezed her shoulders as they landed. "Nervous?"

"Nah, you?"

"Nope."

They grinned at each other.

S.T.A.R. Labs hadn't changed venues since Clark first contacted the founder, Dr. Virgil Swann, in his sophomore year. His daughter, the current Dr. Swann, didn't want to risk losing any material in a move so she simply bought more and more floors in the skyscraper. Clark trusted her as much as he trusted the Original JL but then, that was Clark. Lois reserved judgement. No one was that altruistic. Swann reminded her of someone she interviewed for a piece on Superman fan club culture-- freakishly dedicated due to of a sense of special-by-association. That was another reason she always visited in a wig and shades, calling herself Cir.

Swann met them on the roof. "Kal-el, Cir, we're so pleased you could visit again." She shook their hands as they touched down. The usual chit-chat followed while they made their way to one of the meeting rooms where a scientist and a projector already waited. He stood up quickly as soon as Clark entered.

"This is Emmet. He's head of the genetics research you gave us from Lexcorp." Patricia sat down and everyone followed. "Please, explain what your team accomplished."

Emmet nodded and turned the projector on. A vid appeared on screen, translucent blobs and bubbles on an off-white background. "I'm not one for big reveals so here it is: human-kryptonian zygotes, human eggs fertilized by kryptonian sperm."

"Whose eggs are they?" asked Lois.

"They're discards from fertility clinics, either deemed unviable or frozen but the donors no longer required them."

"That is so weird," she whispered to Clark. He flicked his thumb across her palm but continued to listen.

"The difference between Lexcorp's project and this one is that Lexcorp cloned a kryptonian and only inserted a few human genomes as stabilisers. Genomes are only pieces of DNA that code for specific proteins. To make an imperfect analogy-- just because a man receives a heart transplant from a woman, it doesn't make him a woman. The egg, in the Lexcorp projects, was merely the packaging and the food source. The individual within that egg was ninety-nine percent kryptonian.

"What we've done is combine a kryptonian gamete-- that is, a reproductive cell containing half of the chromosomes necessary to make a new being-- with a human gamete. A near perfect hybrid." Emmet quickly and nervously grinned as the slideshow behind him animated his science lesson.

"Kryptonians have ten more chromosomes than humans resulting in a fertilised cell with fifty-one chromosomes. It shouldn't work but with a little genetic tweaking, we made it work. Of the one thousand trials, only twelve survived past the blastocyst stage-- that's the level where it becomes a hollow ball of thousands of slightly differentiated cells. Those are phenomenal odds," he told Lois and Clark. "The difference in gamete chromosomes is akin to... to… horses and grasshoppers. It really shouldn't happen. Any case, usually at this stage, the blastocyst travels down the oviducts until it arrives in the uterus and it burrows in, nice and cuddly, and latches on. This is all in the first week of pregnancy. Because we don't have anyone to implant the blastocyst in, we created an artificial womb."

"Even experimental wombs only work with extremely premature babies," said Clark. "I've never heard of artificial wombs for zygotes."

Emmet glanced at Swann who took up the narrative. "Birthing matrices are among the technological experiments we've attempted using Jor-el's notes. It's not perfect, the materials we have are in no way comparable to those found on Krypton but we managed to make a small version for the surviving blastocysts. Viability ceased after two weeks, of course, but it was either that or implantation in a different animal."

Lois and Clark made a face.

"I thought you'd react that way." Swann waved Emmet down onto his seat. "The fact is, we're not even mid-way through research for this particular avenue. Implantation is one of the most important parts of gestation, if not the most important. This is all meaningless if a half-kryptonian zygote can't recognize and implant in a human womb."

Clark's shoulders drooped visibly. Lois stroked his knuckles. "If we do this, what could be the side-effects on the mother?"

Again, Swann looked to Emmet. He paled, fidgeting more with his lapels. "Well, the least risky in terms of health is the zygote doesn't implant. You'd have your menstrual period which would flush it away and that's that. The zygote could plant ectopically-- in the wrong place-- such as the oviducts themselves, the outer uterus walls, even the walls of the abdomen which could cause spontaneous abortion or lead to rupturing of the reproductive organs or a relatively normal pregnancy. If the implantation occurs in the uterus, it result in a misformed placenta which can break off, causing haemorrhage; it could implant too deeply and puncture the uterus; it could implant too widely which can result in bleeding, punctures, excess growth which can hamper the amount of space in which the fetus grows. If the placenta implants properly, your body may attack it, thinking it's a parasite. Or it could effectively act as a parasite, draining great amounts of nutrients and energy from your body. Or--"

"Please stop," Clark said, holding a shaky hand up. "Thank you, Emmet, Patricia, but I think it holds too many risks at this time to even contemplate."

"I'm contemplating it," said Lois. Clark gaped at her. Lois peered around his shoulder. "Could you give us a second alone?"

"Of course."

"Are you completely insane?" Clark hissed after making sure they'd gone far enough. "If you want a baby so badly, we can adopt one."

"But it wouldn't be like you." He started to protest again but Lois pinched his mouth closed. "Look, all these years that I've known you, you've been a little lonely. I know, I know, we're always around and you've got a support system enviable only to Jesus when he had his disciples but I know you, Smallville. I know when you found out about Conner, this... light came in your eyes. I can't explain it. It was like you felt found."

He pulled her closer. "I love you. I have all the family, all the belonging I need in you, Mom and Conn. I don't need anything else."

"I know you don't _need_ it but this time, I want a chance to give you something you _want_." Lois traced the line of his lower lip then down to the barest cleft in his chin. "Let's give it two or three tries. I'm not getting any younger; by the time the technology's perfected to the point where you're satisfied, my womb will have shrivelled into a raisin. Besides with your looks and my brain's, the little guy's going to be perfect."

"He could be a she."

"We can only be so lucky." She smiled. "So. Deal?"

Clark nodded and called their hosts back in.

Eleven whole minutes passed until Conner couldn't take it any more. He threw off his blanket, fired up his computer and tucked in his hands-free. Twelve alerts popped on his screen; he clicked on Tana and Roxy.

"Hey, cutesome," said Roxy. "I was just thinking of you."

"Is Roxy on the other end?" Tana asked.

Conner smiled at them. "I'm still bed-ridden," he said, making sure to round his vowels out into a British accent. "One small fall out of a bike and it's like the end of the world."

"Your dad hasn't stopped freaking out?" asked Roxy.

"He acts like I took on a whole gang of Trifists. I'm not even supposed to be out of bed. How's life out of incarceration?"

Roxy launched into a recitation of gossip while Tana rolled her eyes. Her attention was off to the left; she was probably doing homework. She wasn't the best student but she worked hard to get her grades; Conner found her determination unbelievably hot. Roxy was… well, she was Roxy. Also unbelievably hot and really sweet past the surface. She wasn't half as ditzy as she pretended to be when she had someone's full attention.

"-- so I was like totally blanched because who actually goes to VRaves any more? That retro's time has passed, y'know?" Roxy leaned into the camera. "You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?"

"Nope. I was too busy imagining being beside you right now."

Tana made gagging motions. "I'm going to skip this love-in for now. I've got a crapload of things due for the school newsblog."

"It's still summer!"

"The news goes ever on."

"Aw, hey, don't do that! I was thinking we could hangout at the bubble tea place."

"Dibs watermelon!" said Roxy.

Tana pursed her lips. "As utterly titillating as it is to participate in your royal harem, I'll have to pass this time."

"Taanaaa." Conner made his best puppy face.

Rosy sing-songed as well. "Yeah, Taanaaaa. Don't be such a hermit."

"I'm thinking of it as a strategic retreat," said Tana. "It's a good strategy to retreat into my room and not be grounded before school even starts. Besides, I want quality time with Conner, not quantity."

"Hey, I'm all about quantity." Roxy showed exactly which quantity she was willing to share.

Conner's breath caught. "Hoooly crap. I so wish I wasn't an indecisive jerk right now."

Smiling too sweetly, Tana said, "Give me a call when you get around to that." Her window faded away.

"Aw, Tana! Hey, I--" Conner peered meaningfully at his webcam. "Hold that thought, okay, Roxy?"

Roxy straightened out of her seductive pose. "Tana, Tana, Tana. I guess you get lit up by pouting."

"That's not--- Roxy, don't turn off--- poo." Conner stared at his empty monitor. Tilting his chair back away from the desk, he contemplated his options for all of two minutes before pulling on his shoes and heading out the door.

Tana lived with her dad in a townhouse just outside New Troy, close to their high school. He'd go over more often if he thought her dad would allow it. The man was totally medieval when it came to raising a girl. If Conner didn't come over right now while her dad was at work, he'd never get in to talk to her. If he didn't talk to her now and she was mad, he might not be able to do anything about it until after summer vacation and if she spent that long away from him... Well, the consequences didn't bear thinking.

He stopped by their favourite bubble tea place on the way to buy her favourite drink, an apology, he told himself, not a bribe. Still, his heart sped up a little when he rang the doorbell.

"Who is it?" Tana asked through the speaker.

"It's me," said Conner.

"I told you I was studying."

"Well, you need a study break. And I need to say sorry for being a jerk."

"You're a _huge_ jerk," she said with a sigh. The door buzzed, the lock clicked and Conner let himself in.

Tana stood at the end of the hallway, her arms crossed. "If Roxy's quantity wasn't enough for you, I really don't think you'll find anything better here."

"If I wanted to be with Roxy, I'd be at her house not yours. Her dad doesn't give me scorching death glares from across the parking lot."

"If you're going to insult my dad--"

"I'm not-- Look, watermelon bubble tea." Conner held the peace offering out.

Reluctantly, she took it but he didn't let go, allowing himself to be pulled closer to her. "What are you doing here, Conner?"

"I want to spend time with you. Just you."

He didn't know how they went from kissing on the foyer to making out in her room. Being around Tana did that, made him totally lose all sense of time and place even when it didn't directly involve his dick. She felt like kitten fur and smelled like the ocean; when she stroked the back of his neck, his eyes throbbed with heat.

A few minutes more and they were both in their underwear. Conner tore the elastic of Tana's panties as he slid his fingers around the slickness of her vaj. She rubbed him through his underwear, her touch too tentative to really be effective except it was Tana and this was farther than he'd ever gone with her. He thrust his hips at her hand. His heart thumped so hard he thought his ribs would crack. He'd had sex but it was... well, it was Wonder Girl was what it was, after a really harsh battle when everyone was high and horny about surviving. She'd known what she was doing being because she channelled Aphrodite. He had just followed along. This was different. This was Tana and she expected him to know what to do.

"Tana, baby." He kissed her sweetly this time. "You're so pretty. But we have to stop now, baby, or I'm not going to be able to stop at all."

Shyly, she peered down at him. "You don't want to?"

"Of course I do! You can't fake this." Conner gestured to his erection. "It just... Oh, jeez, I feel stupid but it just doesn't feel right that we're doing this when I haven't told Roxy my decision."

She smiled. "It's not stupid. It's sweet." She kissed his cheek. "You're a really nice guy under all that leather and ink."

"Yeah, I'm a regular boyscout," he said. "So... what do we do now?"

Tana tapped her chin with a finger. "I have a metric crapload of movies we can watch over some delicious bubble tea."

So he was still resting but, Conner reflected, at least he had company he liked.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Midges and mosquitoes dragged August in after July, one of the least humid Augusts in memory. The minor relief did nothing for Lois, cranky on ovary stimulation drugs and suffering withdrawal from her trifecta of favourite things--alcohol, caffeine and salty snacks.

Swann's hired obstetrician/gynaecologist, Beth Chapel, kept her attention on the computer at her desk as they entered the clinic. "There's a gown in the bathroom. Please put it on and sit on the table."

Lois raised her eyebrows at Clark but complied. She'd worn a kryptonian top, knowing the loose, tunic style would best suit the assessment. "What happened to my usual NP?"

"She's not qualified for the type of assessment I'll be doing but she's still on staff if you'd like to contact her for help outside our scheduled appointments," said Chapel. She finally looked up. Her eyes were entirely blue with no marking between sclera, iris and pupil. She reached for a white cane leaning against the desk.

"How... exactly is this going to work?" asked Clark as politically as he knew how.

Chapel seemed to have sensed his discomfort; her expression softened. "I don't have what you'd call normal vision. I can't see under normal light but under certain circumstances, I have better vision than even you, Superman. I guess you can say I'm kind of like a walking MRI. That bed has electromagnetic fields beaming onto it at perpendicular frequencies which I can see. Depending on how far I focus, I can see you normally or through you into your organs."

"We live in a cool but strange world," said Lois, jumping on the bed.

"No need to lie down yet. I just want to ask you more questions and I'll need you to answer honestly. They may seem very personal but I need to know more than which organs are ticking when. I assure you that none of your answers will ever leave this room-- I'll lock all my handwritten files in a safe just behind that cupboard, and the computer is encrypted and programmed to melt if it's suddenly unplugged or the drive itself is taken out of the shell."

"You wouldn't happen to know a guy who likes to dress up like a rubber bat, would you?" Clark murmured.

"No, but I admire his diligence. Kal-el, if you don't mind leaving the room."

"I don't have anything to hide from him," said Lois.

"You haven't heard the types of questions I'm going to ask." Chapel gestured once more to the door. "If you please, Kal-el."

Lois expected nutrition, exercise and stress management questions. Chapel delved further into Lois' childhood, her feelings on her childhood, her favourite snacks, any pets she'd ever had, examples of undercover job she'd pursued for a story, the way she sat on a chair, how often she had sex with Clark, how often she wanted to have sex with Clark-- the questions went on forever. And when Chapel invited Clark back in, she cooled her heels for the next hour watching CSI re-runs in the waiting room.

"Here's my plan of attack," Chapel told them when Lois re-entered the clinic-proper. "I want to fill you up with as much folic acid, Vitamin C and iron as is safe. I'll write you out a prescription for nutritional supplements but considering the amounts, I encourage you to use them strictly as supplements. They can't be substitutes for poor nutrition."

"Damn," Lois sighed.

"Eat as many dark, leafy vegetables as you can handle as well as anything purple, red, orange and yellow. That's natural colours, nothing with food colouring. Keep your protein intake as is for now; we can reassess the need once we've actually implanted the zygotes. I'm also barring all caffeine and alcohol intake. With most pregnancies, it's all right to have a can of soda or a small cup of coffee once or twice a week but we're dealing with a high-risk pregnancy and every little bit helps."

"Lots of vegetables, no coffee and no alcohol." Trading a look with Clark, she said, "Little Barack III. better be worth it."

"I wanted to name him Thomas Jefferson." He pressed a kiss to her temple.

* * *

Thirty-seven days later, she wasn't so sure she could handle another eight months of epicurean abstinence. Her head hurt and her stomach rebelled at every meal. She also developed near-instantaneous irritation at odd things. Clark's scent for example. The smell of ozone drove her insane.

"Conner! Your music volume is way too high for my level of caffeination! Goddammit, who introduced you to Eminem anyway?"

"You did!" Conner shouted over his player. He turned the volume down but not by much. "Remember, you were complaining that RhadaSquat sounded like a Heart-Eminem mashup and I asked who Hearteminem was and you totally flipped out and programmed a playlist for my musical education?"

Lois hung her head. "I'm a horrible role-model. I introduced my teenager to songs with questionable lyrical content."

"Yup!" said Conner cheerfully. "I'm totally ready to embark onto a life of petty crime and drug-addled promiscuity. Did you know Eminem made a song about Superma--"

"_Yes_," said Lois. "And if you ever want to eat again, you'll never play it while I'm at home."

"Then I'll just learn to cook."

"Ha! That'll be the day."

"It could be worse. I could be playing to that hair metal crap."

"You will hush about hair metal crap! That stuff is classic!"

"Aunt Lo, they wore shoulder pads and tights."

"It was the times," said Lois. "It'll make a comeback, just wait and see. Besides, you say 'tights' like it's a bad thing. Lots of manly men wear tights."

"Name one," Conner challenged.

"Olympic gymnasts. Big biceps. Legs like tree trunks. While we're at it, Olympic swimmers wear tights, too."

Conner rolled his eyes. "You're weird, Aunt Lo."

The phone rang, overpowering Lois' scorching come-back. It was Martha, wanting an update on life in general. Conner prattled for nearly fifteen minutes, basking in his grandmother's adoration. If nothing else, Lois was glad Conner's move to the USA meant he experienced his grandparents. Having such warm, solid support did him good. He had a lot of insecurity hidden under the cocky attitude. She should know; she'd been exactly the same at his age.

"Grandma wants to talk to you now," Conner said, handing the phone over.

"Gracious of you, kiddo." She tousled his hair as he left for his room. She loved talking to Martha, too. A Martha-Kent-talk did everyone good.

"I swear, Mom, I nearly mugged Cat for her grande, no-fat, soy, iced decaf," she confessed ten minutes into the conversation. "I _hate_ soy coffee. It's like coffee violation. I hear the little beans screaming in indignation but it just smelled so good. And then there's Clark and football season. He only ever has beer when he watches a Sharks game but when he pops it open, I sit beside him just to huff hops."

Martha laughed gently. "Oh, you poor thing."

"I know, right? And this month is just the preview. My womb is still up for rent; we're just hustling up tenants. Nine-month tenants, Mom. Oh, God, I hope it's just nine months. Lana said she was pregnant for a whole year. A _year_ without coffee or beer or Cheezpuffs or vodka or soda or salted pretzels that you dip in processed cheese. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundreds and sixty-five days unless we conceive on a leap year. That extra day in February may just push me over the edge."

"I remember when Jonathan and I researched IVF," said Martha. "It was all so expensive back then."

"Yeah, fortunately, Swann's giving us a discount in exchange for diddling around with our reproductive systems. I swear she draws hearts around Clark's semen samples and, whoa, I TMI'd my mother-in-law. But it's true." Lois grunted and wiggled her hand. Her jar of cocktail onions was not cooperating. "Conn!"

"Yeah?" came from the second bedroom where he'd retreated.

"Culinary emergency. Can't open the jar and too lazy to go get the jar opening thingy."

"Lois, dear, I have to go for now. I'm expecting a call from Tulsa," Martha said.

"Sure thing. Lobby bills. Give 'em heck. Bye!" She hung up as a beleaguered Conner left his room.

"It's not like we live in Wayne Manor," he said. "The kitchen drawer's only six feet away."

"And yet, strangely, still too far to reach from the couch. Don't argue with an ovulating woman, Junior, especially not one who has visual contact with middle age."

"You mean like in the rearview mirror?"

Lois' eyes narrowed. "I rescind your cuteness. Open my pickles." She held the jar out to Conner.

He fiddled with the lid and popped it open. Peering at the contents, he said, "I don't know how you can eat this-- uh... whoa."

The "whoa" was in response to the jar cocktail onions now floating three inches above Conner's hand. The jar bobbed and spun slowly while the lid flipped around beside it like a coin in slow motion.

"Are you doing that?" Lois asked in a lowered voice.

"I think so," said Conner, his tone the same. "Let me try-- OW!" The jar exploded in his hand, sending glass shards flying. Lois reflexively flipped over the arm of the couch, ducking behind it as a shield. Half a second later, Conner's last word penetrated.

Ow?

"Conn!" Lois leapt to his side. He stared at his hand, confused at the sight. Two of the largest shards embedded in his forearm, thankfully missing the main artery. Smaller slivers cut his knuckles and the pads of his hands. Blood dripped off his elbow. "Hold still, kiddo. Don't try to remove them yourself. Where's the communicator for your second job?"

Growing increasingly pale, Conner said, "My backpack. Inside pocket. Are you calling JL?"

"Hell yes, I am!"

"Don't! Please. I'll be fine. It doesn't hurt. Last time, it just healed over after a while."

Lois stood over him. "You're not supposed to bleed at all and this is the second time within a month that it's happened. You need someone to look at you."

"No, no, no, I just need you to help me pull it out." Conner turned his big, blue eyes at her. "Please, Aunt Lo? If Dad finds out, I'm grounded from working for another weekend. They're just splinters."

Hands on her hips, Lois glared down at the little con artist. "Fine. But if it doesn't stop bleeding in an hour, I'm calling your dad directly."

"Deal. I--Hey, look!" Lois leaned down to the part of his arm he pointed out. The glass splinters wriggled out, pushed by Conner's rapidly healing flesh. "See? Fine, just like I told you."

"Fine for now." Letting out a disconcerted puff, Lois ran her hands through her hair and asked, "Are you done your homework?"

One of Conner's eyebrows arched.

"Okay, wrong question. Have you started your homework?"

"Yeah."

"Good enough for me. Pack the rest of it up. We're going to visit your Grandma's back forty for some practice."

* * *

The Kents' back forty had seen a lot of strange goings-on ever since Martha and Jonathan Kent adopted a little black-haired boy thirty-five years ago. After heat vision, super-breath, speed and flying, using bales of hay as footballs was par for the course.

Martha and Lois stood back as Conner threw a block of hay, ran to catch it before it fell, then repeated the exercise. "How do you feel?" asked Lois.

"Bored but good," answered Conner. "Maybe it's like voice-cracking during puberty. Sometimes I'll get hurt but it'll all even out after a while."

"Maybe. I don't remember Clark saying anything about that." Lois looked to Martha for confirmation.

She nodded. "Clark only lost his powers around kryptonite or through Jor-el. It's never been spontaneous."

"So, maybe there was some kryptonite around our condo," Conner said.

"I hope not," said Lois. "The League's done a good job of eradicating as much of that stuff as possible especially around Metropolis. If it's around, it wouldn't be by accident."

Martha handed her cell phone over. She'd typed a message on the memo pad: "See if distractions affect it." Lois nodded once.

"Hey, Junior, give me all the primary numbers backwards from one thousand and don't stop throwing."

Conner groaned. "Why?"

"We're testing your concentration."

He stuck his tongue out but obeyed. "997, 991, 983, 977…uh, 967, 953, 947--" All the while, he threw a bale of hay fifteen yards, caught it and threw it back. "719, 709, 701--"

"What's the fifth word on the twentieth paragraph in Chapter Ten of _To Kill a Mockingbird?_" asked Martha.

"Maycomb."

"What song is #55,645 on our main player?" Lois asked.

"By song title or artist?"

"Song title."

Conner had to think for two throws. "Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd."

Turning to Martha, Lois said, "His memory's all right. Explain factors that contributed to the start of World War I."

"Aww, come on. That's confusing! Can I just give you the date?"

Field grass seeds whipped into the air and Clark appeared between the two women. J'Onn trailed at a more human pace behind him. "How's he doing?" Clark asked.

"Peachy," replied Lois. "You never would have known he had a frillion glass splinters from floating a jar of pickles. How was work?"

"Reminding me how much I don't miss Mom's political dinners. We got a name from the woman in the pod but nothing else and the UN refuses to consider putting her in League custody until Krysybestan finishes tallying the damages. Sweden, the USA and China are bidding for rights to investigate the sinkholes and Japan won't lend any equipment until _that's_ settled. Meanwhile, Maland Barda--"

"Who?"

"Our pod-woman," said Clark.

"How do you know that's her name and not an alien epithet?" asked Lois.

"I scanned that much from her mind," J'Onn said. "She has strong, smooth shields. Wherever her origin, she has also trained for psychic attacks. Perhaps it is for the best that she remains with the UN until further notice."

Lois read Clark's discomfort clearly. He'd never gotten over his distrust of government-run xenology research and with good reason. Leaving another non-human in one must have been tearing him up.

"Thank goodness Diana's on the case," said Clark. "She'll make sure Maland's treated well." He studied his son for a few minutes then turned to J'Onn. "What do you think?"

"I've never seen this manifestation in a kryptonian before," J'Onn admitted. "A light trace of telepathy emanates from him, which in itself is unsurprising considering his genetic make-up. However his 'voice' is louder than normal."

"Conner's psychic now?" Lois paraphrased.

"No, not quite," said J'Onn. "It's a small difference, a louder whisper not true telepathic communication. But if you wish, I can train him in some basic mental exercises. Perhaps that will ease some troubles."

"I'd really appreciate that,' said Clark. "I guess the only other thing we can do is look out for other incidents and keep note of preceding events. Conner, you can stop now."

"Aw, shucks, just when it was getting fun." Conner pitched the bale of hay one last time. It arced twenty feet in the air, landing with a "whump" out of Lois' visual range.

Martha turned to J'Onn. "Come inside the house for some refreshments, J'Onn. You haven't visited in a while."

"Thank you, Martha, I shall." He held an arm out and they strolled back to the yellow farmhouse, chatting amiably about "the kids."

Poking Clark's side, Lois said, "Hey, Smallville, I think J'Onn's hitting on your mom."

Clark made a face. "So this is what it feels like to be you, Conner."

"Dude, not even," said Conner. "At least they're just holding hands. You two totally destroy my brain."

"Destroy this." Faster than Lois could see, Clark grabbed Conner around the waist and threw him into the air. Conner whooped all the way up and up and up until he was only a black and blue speck in the sky. Laughing, his father launched himself up as well. They played this game all the time out here-- Clark would toss Conner high enough to break cloud cover and fly with him during the trajectory, waiting until the last minute to stop his fall. The whole county heard their laughter. Catch chez Lane-Kent-Sullivan. This, Lois reflected, was one of many reasons Clark deserved a baby.

* * *

Egg retrieval required another visit to S.T.A.R. Labs. They were fertilised and ready for implantation a week later. Despite his jokes about witnessing his sibling's conception, Conner was happy to go to New York with his parents. Firstly, it was New York, party central of the planet. Secondly, Dr. Swann's assistant was a stone fox. He winked at her every time he dropped in. Thirdly, it was kind of a huge deal.

"You guys want a girl or a boy?" he asked in mid-leap from one rooftop to the next. He'd declined his dad's offer for a piggyback but that meant running and roof-hopping to Giselle Towers, S.T.A.R. Labs HQ, while Clark carried Lois.

They looked at each other--they _always_ looked at each other before talking, like they had to network brains or something-- before Aunt Lo said, "I think I want a boy. Girls are expensive and get into a lot more trouble."

"Besides, we're having so much fun with you, we want to do it all over again," Clark said in a deadpan. "I don't care really, as long as it's healthy. What about you? Do you want a sister or a brother?"

"Whatever," said Conner. "I don't really mind either one. We totally have to get a new place though. I'm not so into sharing rooms."

With an evil grin, Lois said, "You only have to stand it until you finish high school and then we're kicking you out."

"Lois!" Clark said, but his lips twitched.

"I read on the net that you gotta acclimatise the elder sibling about the idea of having a baby around. Not doing a bang up job so far," said Conner.

Clark snapped his fingers. "That's what I forgot. We'll have to stop by F.A.O. Schwartz after this to buy a PeePee Polly Doll for you."

"You two have read way more than I have about pregnancy," Lois said. "You're making me look bad. But then again, you're the ones who have superspeed. I hereby give all my diapering duties to you. No need to thank me."

"So, like, with names, I was thinking Gordon if it's a boy and Nigella if it's a girl," said Conner.

"You're been watching Food Channel reruns," said Clark. "I've got a swell idea--"

"Swell?" Lois and Conner parroted.

"-- instead of just _watching_ the Food Channel, why don't you actually cook the recipes from those shows?"

"But that would be, like, _productive,_" said Conner with a grimace.

Clark rolled his eyes up. "Right. How silly of me."

"Gordon I can take but there's no way in hell I'm going to name my daughter Nigella," said Lois. "The baby name list is now fifteen names long on the boys' side and seventeen names on the girls' side. Aren't we supposed to narrow it down instead of expanding it?"

"We've already established our family doesn't follow convention," Clark said. "Why start with list making? I'd nix Nigella too, though. It doesn't sound... pretty enough. What about Corazon for a girl and Kahlil for a boy?"

"Still lengthening the list. At this rate, the kid won't have a name until kindergarten."

They landed on the roof of the Giselle Tower, laughing.

On good days-- most days, really-- Conner considered himself Chloe Sullivan and Clark Kent's son and Lois Lane's nephew, created the same way more people were. Occasionally, however, he caught sight of his dad and himself side-by-side on a reflective surface and their similarity in looks whacked him upside the head. He didn't just resemble Clark Kent; he looked _exactly_ like Clark Kent down to the stubborn curl at the apex of his widow's peak. According to the JL database, even their fingerprint and retinal patterns matched. Those days, Conner remembered he was a glorified science project, a Superman Lite. The man he called "Dad" was, more accurately, his twin. That was just all sorts of wrong.

This thing that Dr. Swann was doing, it was all cool. Dad and Aunt Lo would actually have a real baby like they wanted. He knew they cared about him; he wasn't that emo. But there was a difference between being someone's kid and being someone's copy. He knew they'd want to have an actual kid. They deserved to have an actual kid.

So, yeah, he kidded around while Aunt Lo prepped for the implantation and made gagging noises when Dr. Swann asked him to leave the room for the actual procedure but he was genuinely happy for them.

* * *

This happiness did not extend to hearing them go at it later on that night. Conner groaned as he buried his head under two pillows and a blanket. What a freakin' stupid time for his hearing to kick in! What the hell was this? His dad had to be temporarily blinded by a freak accident for _his_ hearing to set in and he, Conner, randomly got it while his parents were in a celebratory mood? He wanted to be able to hear Robin try to sneak up on him or Wendy the Werewolf Stalker changing out of costume in her trailer. Instead he got:

"Oh, Jesus _God_, Clark, I love your mouth!"

The world hated him. He'd never be able to face them in the morning.

Covering his ears, Conner zipped out of bed, out his bedroom window and up the fire-escape to the roof. That didn't work even with sirens going off and the blare of a hundred households tuned into late night television. His suffered the auditory equivalent of watching a train wreck.

"Lois. Oh...oh, oh, _oh_, _Lois_!"

Conner could cry. He jumped to another roof then another then another until he reached Hobb's Port on the intersection of the Kansas and Missouri Rivers. Still hearing a disturbing amount of heavy breathing, he leapt off the rooftops and ran east. He followed the highways until he couldn't hear them, even if he tried. Now he had the new problem of hearing everything else. He put his hands up to his ears again, wincing in pain. He was in a really loud city.

Looking up, he amended the thought. He was in a really loud and scary looking city. Gargoyles from neo-gothic architecture loomed down over him, the mirrored buildings they protected multiplying them by a hundred. Wind pummelled the top stories and whistled through slotted roof ventilators. Cars honked even this late at night, almost, but not quite, drowning out sirens-- ambulance, police, fire trucks, burglar alarms, hospital equipment. People shouted, fists in drunken fights crunched wetly into soft organs under frail bonds, babies cried. The babies wouldn't stop crying.

Conner fell to his knees, eyes clenched. _Tune it out, tune it out, tune it out_

Babies still cried. Glass shattered nearby. A woman-- two women? Three?-- shrieked as they threw objects at assailants. A gang ignored the sobs of their initiate.

"-- off. Go home, Robin."

Conner's eyes snapped open.

"I still have another half hour remaining in my shift."

_Focus. Focus, focus, focus_ He got up and ran again, this time straining for that voice. Batman's voice, too. No one could really forget Batman's voice but there was no way in hell he'd try to meet Batman on his own turf. Word was the guy owned a chunk of kryptonite.

"This will take more than half an hour and I can't have you leaving in the middle of an operation."

"Then I won't leave."

"That wasn't a request, Robin. Go home."

He didn't answer. Conner skidded to a stop.

"Yessir," said Robin, a little sulkily. "Robin out."

Conner ran north. He was in Gotham City. He was in fucking Gotham City, home of the goddamn Batman, cesspool of the universe. He had to run all the way to the east coast of the continent to _not_ hear his parents going at it. Honestly, weren't they too old to have sex?

He skidded to a stop again, behind an overflowing trash bin. Nothing, no Robin. He widened his focus and bam! The city assaulted his ears again. Gasping, Conner slammed his hands over the sides of his head. He had to concentrate on something or he'd go nuts. This place was abso-fucking-lutely nuts.

An ant crawled over his foot. Six hairy legs tapped over the tiny, crystalline structure of his skin, thirty-six chitin joints creaking past each other. Two antennae vibrated like tinny wind chimes.

Somewhere due north, came Robin's disgusted complaint: "Two-forty? I'm not going to finish--"

Conner shot out of the alley.

"--my--"

He turned down a street.

"--English--"

And zipped past a dilapidated suburb.

"--paper--"

Through a cemetery and around the playground and who the hell built a playground next to a cemetery?

"--in five--"

Up a swank gated community on a hill.

"--hours."

To a doors of a really nice, big house. Conner stared up at it. Robin was rich?

"Dammit," said Robin. It came from the back of the mansion. Sheets of paper clapped against each other. The air-conditioning system roared. Five earthworms chewed dirt. A plane whistled through the sky overhead. Electricity crackled in the clouds. Conner snuck around back to pinpoint the exact window. A faint glow came from the second and third windows on the east side of the second floor.

In one hop, he hung on the wrought-iron flower box on the bottom edge of the window. A grunt and a chin-up later, he wrenched Robin's window open and was inside. The problem was the room was empty.

"Hey, Robbie," Conner whispered. "It's me."

Not a sound. Great. His hearing had clicked off exactly when he needed to hear Robin sneak up on him.

"Robin, I know this is your room. I heard you talking."

Not a thing stirred. Conner rose from his crouch and sighed. "Okay, if you want to make it all official: Yankee-Juliet-Lima, Zero-Five reporting, Brahman Protocol. Now show the hell up, I'm tired."

Robin dropped out of the ceiling like a freakin' bat. Cute.

"You wear your mask while you're in your pj's?" said Conner. "I said Brahman Protocol. Civvies are cool."

"Brahman Protocol only counts during emergencies if other initiatives fail. Even then, we don't interact with the League in civilian clothing. Ever." Robin crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"

"I'd tell you but then I'd have to remember and right now, I'm exhausted trying to forget. You ever try to unhear everything in the state? It's not fun. I'm crashing here for a couple hours." Conner flopped on the bed.

That gave Robin a pause. "You heard me... why are you here, Kon-el?"

"Dude, you are the worst best friend, _ever_. You know that when your buddy sneaks into your room in the middle of the night to crash, you're supposed to just let him crash, right?"

"Best... of course. That's what usually happens with my... buddies."

Something in Robin's pauses made Conner open his eyes. "You've never had buddies crash over at your place before, have you?"

With a barely strangled sigh, Robin sat at his desk. "I don't exactly have the chance to get out much. Especially at night."

"And people think I'm the alien. Okay, seeing as how this is your first time with the wacky world of normalcy, I'm going to answer your question. I'm over because my hearing kicked in and I heard my parents having sex next door in Dolby Digital THX surround sound." He covered his face in shame.

"Holy shit," Robin breathed.

"Yeah. That."

"I... I'm so sorry. Are you... of course you're not okay. Please, sleep over for as long as you need to. My parents have a psychotherapist on speed-dial if you feel the need to vent."

Conner grinned. "Thanks, Robbie. I knew you had to be halfway human. I'll totally make it up to you though. What's your paper on and why the hell are you doing one in August?"

"I take summer school so my workload isn't as heavy during the normal year," said Robin. "It gives me more time to work at night."

"Makes a sick sort of sense, if you're a Bat. Premise?"

"Compare and contrast a novel with a current event and explain the significance of the similarities or the differences."

Conner made a face. "Dude, that's hard core. I thought you were younger than me."

"How old are you?" If he didn't know any better, he could've sworn asking that question made Robbie uncomfortable.

"I'm going into tenth."

"Oh. I am too. But, um, I skipped a grade."

"Of course you did, you freaky little bird. And that's Lit not just English." He laughed at Robin's fidgeting. "Dude, you are such a nerd. Go figure the YJ stud would be best friends with the YJ keener."

"Stud. As in only good for ramming into walls?" Now even Robin was grinning. "Go to sleep already, Kon-el. I have to hand this in by eight this morning."

"And that's the other thing-- people who let me crash at their place can totally call me Conner."

Shyly, Robin peeled his mask off. "Tim. You... you should know your best buddy's name."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

The next five weeks were heavenly, in Clark's opinion. Sure he sometimes suffered the consequences of Lois' coffee and alcohol withdrawal as soon as S.T.A.R. confirmed her pregnancy but she didn't have a lick of morning sickness either. They spoiled her silly, him and Conner, and she actually permitted it. He stocked the fridge with sherbets and split foot-massage duty with Conner. His mom cooked several delicious but healthy dishes every weekend. He couldn't keep his big mouth shut, of course, so the Original JL sent gifts-- a Ralph Lauren rattle from Ollie, a Tickle-Me Elmo from Bart, a manatee doll from A.C. and baby's first laptop from Vic.

Best of all, he'd never felt so... chipper. There really was no other word for it. He felt lighter than happy and glowed with something fluffier than joy. Just to keep the status quo, he tried to pick fights with Lois over baby names or the side of the bed but they were half-hearted at best, often ending in giggles within minutes.

Nights were the best and not only because Lois' hormones tilted her libido towards voracious. Clark slid down to her still-flat belly to whisper to their little blob of differentiated cells. "Tell your mother that Chloe is a perfectly good name."

"One, Chloe hated the idea of junior names so you'd be ignoring her will," said Lois as she brushed her fingers through his hair. "Secondly, there's no masculine version of Chloe."

"Clovis," he said seriously.

Lois whacked him on the head with a pillow then hummed as Clark ghosted his lips over her collarbone. "Mmmm, lower."

He smiled, nipped at the tops of her breasts then kissed it better. "We just finished."

"Five whole minutes ago."

"Four actually."

She yanked a hank of his hair. "If you can jet all around the world every day, five days a week and still have time to finish a book and write articles, you can sure as hell go for Round Three. Don't forget, I know your weird ET sweet spots." Now it was her turn to tease him with too-soft caresses along the crease running from his hip bone to his groin. "And this one." She traced the bony spines in the small of his back. "And, finally, the ever-so-addictive..." He knew what was coming, meeting her halfway, mouth open. When they kissed, she traced the ruggae on the roof of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. Clark shuddered from head to toe, whining, the sound pulling from the base of his stomach. Something south of his stomach pointed straight up,

Lois nibbled at his lips. "Junior agrees with me." She gave the roof of his mouth a few more swipes and drew more circles around his spine.

"Love you, too, Lane. Just... ummf." He pulled her arms up above her head and pinned her down with his hips. "Hold still so I can get revenge."

"Oooh, promise?"

"aaaAAA_aa_hhh... hey! Put your hands back there."

"Or what?"

"Or this." Clark whipped the blankets and threw them on the floor. Laughing, Lois vised her legs around his neck but he gently pulled her right leg away. Years of dutiful running gave Lois strong, shapely legs. He traced the tendons from her heel to the base of her calf with kisses. The skin behind her knees was another favourite spot of his. It was so soft, the texture much smoother, When he kissed her there, even her thighs got goosebumps.

Lois reached behind her head, hands fisting the pillows as she arched back and moaned. Her breasts flushed, the nipples puckered and dark. He kept his eye on them as he played connect-the-goosebump up her thighs. He'd get there soon but first things, first. Clark was a believer in finishing a job in linear order and he _was_ closer to the juncture of her thighs. He saw the wetness of her labia, almost taste her flavour in the pheromones she exuded. His mouth watered.

"Clark, stop teasing!"

"Nag, nag, nag." But Clark bent his head down to work. Lois' broken, incoherent babbling was a symphony to his ears. She grabbed at his hair with both hands, humping his face even as she breathed sweet nothings she'd never have the guts to say outside this bed.

He knew when she would demand, "Inside, now!" and so he reared back up, letting her legs fall on either side of his knees. He kissed her, a little roughly because she was licking at the roof of his mouth again and he could feel the tingling all the way down to his groin. He slipped inside her just before she made her demand. A husband's work was never done.

* * *

Sophomore year chugged along for Conner in the usual manner, meaning he squeaked through the first set of quizzes and assignments on charm and kryptonian brain cells alone. This evening, he bent over his algebra textbook with his music player on and his pencil tapping.

Clark plucked one of the wires out of his ear. "How can you concentrate with music? Especially that kind of music."

Rolling her eyes, Lois said, "Hooboy, here you two go again. If you want me, I'll be in the bathroom trying to pee in peace." She squeezed his hand before going.

"It's the only way I _can_ concentrate," Conner was saying. "If I don't listen to music, I can hear everything in the surrounding five city blocks."

"Try listening for the baby's heartbeat then. It started pumping two days ago and sounds like ocean waves." Clark couldn't keep from grinning as he spoke the words. Nor could Conner. He stilled, concentrating.

"Um, Dad?" Alarm tinged his son's voice. "I... I don't hear anything."

"Maybe you just have to tilt your head in the same direction--" Clark stopped. Heavy silence came from the bathroom when just hours ago, he could have sworn he heard the rushing of a primitive heart pumping blood through miniscule blood vessels.

"Oh my God, Lois!" He wrenched the door open. "Lois! Lois, I can't... I can't hear the... no, please, no, Lois..."

Lois had her pants down. Bright red liquid stained her underwear and the inside of her thighs, thick, clotted, sickly metallic.

* * *

S.T.A.R. confiscated her stained jeans and panties. Lois just lay on the examination table, listening to Beth Chapel officially confirm the miscarriage on her audio recorder. Clark sat beside her, shoulders slumped, his breathing a study in control. Outside the room, Martha sat with her grandson. She insisted on coming after a nearly hysterical Conner called her up with the news. She rejected all Clark's protests about securing her identity. S.T.A.R. could easily recognise her due to her famous pro-meta stances when she'd been on the Senate, but when Martha Kent was intent on something, no one could talk her out of it.

"I'm very sorry to be intruding with my medical interventions so soon after your loss," Chapel said again. "I'm just going to take a few more samples and I can leave you alone." Her lips thinned as she took out yet another sheet of paper. "This is a consent form allowing us to investigate the fetus' cause of death. Because this is such a unique case, I think it would benefit everyone in the future if we--"

"Not now, please," said Clark, his voice hoarse. The bed rails dented under his grasp.

Chapel almost turned to leave but Lois called out, "Hand it over. Do all the tests you need. Figure this out."

Clark stood up sharply and stalked to the door. Conner and Martha's conversation stopped; Martha started to speak but he said, "Give me five minutes." Seconds later, a sonic boom shook the building.

Chapel rubbed the corners of those damn forms into paste but couldn't seem to figure out the next move. She must've skipped emotional detachment class in med-school, Lois reflected. "You had things for me to sign?"

"I can come back."

"No, let me have a look now. This has the usual clause about destroying all tissues afterward?"

"Of course." Chapel gave her the papers. "I really am sorry."

Lois just rubbed her forehead. "Just tell me what you know so far and we'll take it from there, doc. I'll take the sympathy later but for now, the only thing keeping me from yelling my head off are my defence mechanisms so if you could just let me know what went wrong in my body and as soon as I fly home, I can get on my laptop to figure out how to fix it."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Then let me have my goddamn illusions," Lois snarled. She took a deep breath, released it, and spoke again at a lower volume. "What are my discharge instructions?"

She didn't remember the trip home. So much for her defence mechanisms. Conner hovered around her, too scared to touch but too worried to leave. Martha distracted him with a cooking lesson. Clark followed Lois into their bedroom, shut the door and pulled the blankets around them. She pushed it off. She had to deal with this. She had to repress and fix or she'd go break and, dammit, only one of them was allowed to break at a time.

"Where's my laptop?" asked Lois.

"In the office. I'll get it--"

But she already left, eyes resolutely forward. She fetched her laptop and returned to the bedroom where she set her lapdesk up. When next she looked up, Clark put his arm around her and said, "Sweetheart, it's almost midnight. You've been surfing for hours."

"I just need to find more articles on folate intakes."

He sighed, kept her on his lap but let her continue. Eventually, she felt wetness slide down her neck. Lois turned and cupped Clark's cheek. "Hey, Smallville." She wiped his tears away and kissed the tip of his nose.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What for? It wasn't your fault."

"But it was after we made love. What if I was too rough and--"

"Bullshit." Lois stiffened her jaw against more tremors. "They told us chances were slim for the first IVF. We're still experimenting with the kinds of things I should eat and the supplements I should take. Geez, I was just happy for every day we had with this one. We're going to try again, Clark, and we're going to make this work."

He kissed her on the lips, then her cheek then back on her lips with a gentle sort of desperation. This was the kiss he gave her when they first started dating, when he feared breaking her with the strength of his desire. Lois put the laptop aside and turned around so he could cuddle her properly.

"You're so much stronger than me, you know that?" Clark said as he stroked her from shoulder to bum. "If anything happens to you, I fall apart. But you... if our positions were reversed, you'd get right on that laptop, make phone calls and fix it."

"Military brat brainwashing syndrome. We're not allowed to show emotion," said Lois. "But for the record, if anything happened to you, I'd bawl like a baby while I looked for something to fix it."

He pulled her even closer and squeezed tight. "In about twenty minutes, I'm going to put on my suit and pummel my frustration out on hapless criminals but for now, I'm a little broken. Could you just... fix me for a second?"

She started singing softly. "For you, there'll be no crying. For you the sun will be shining." Tears trickled down her back as she stroked his hair. "And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before."

* * *

Everything sucked.

Suck, suck, suck, suck.

Balls, suck, suck, suck, suck.

Suck, suck, suck, _sucking, motherfucking, wart-ridden balls_ suck, suck, suck--

"Oh, for goodness sake, Conner." Tana yanked his shirt collar. "Are you actually in class today, or did your brain take a side-trip to the moon?"

"Jupiter actually," said Conner. He stared at the chemistry rig in front of them. "Isn't this too dangerous for high school students?"

"We're only doing acid-base titrations." She shoved the lab book towards him. "If you're not going to actually do anything, you can at least read the instructions. Maybe you'll get participation marks for-- oh, why am I even trying?"

Conner shrugged. Suck.

Tana took a deep breath. "I think I know what's going on."

"I highly doubt it." He hadn't told her about the baby. He hadn't told anyone in the school about the baby, actually, not when it was alive and certainly not when it... when... It was none of their business. He went to school to socialise, not to share feelings or grapple for A's.

"You've met someone else, haven't you? And you just don't want to tell me or Roxy."

Shaking his head, Conner said, "You're so not right you're not even in the same continent as right."

"Well, it's either that or you've made the decision between me and Roxy and since you don't seem to be jumping up and down in front of me, I'm guessing you chose her."

"Honestly? On a scale of importance, you and Roxy are pretty damn low right now."

Sniffling, she said, "Okay. If that's the way you feel."

He stifled a groan. "Please don't cry. It's really not about you, it's... a lot of other stuff."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She reached for his hand.

Even as he wagged his head "No," Conner couldn't let her go.

"We can cut. Like... like when I told you about my parents."

Again, he shook his head. "It's not... I don't want to talk about it."

"Right." Tana went right back to being stiff and angry. "God forbid you open up to anyone."

Now, that just ticked him off. "Believe it or not, I have a whole frickin' life outside school. My world doesn't begin and end on my grades and who the fuck I take to the Homecoming Dance."

"Well, maybe my life doesn't begin and end on whether or not you condescend to commit to one woman!" she said, slamming her pencil so hard on the table it snapped. "I care about you, Conner."

"I know, I--"

"I'm pretty and I'm smart. Girls look up to me. Even some Juniors look up to me, okay?"

When did he lose control of this conversation? Conner wanted someone to attack the school and save him from this confrontation. "Tone down, everyone can hear."

"Then let them hear!" Tana shrieked. "Everyone thinks you're so hot and so sexy and so cool just because you're from Europe and you act badass and... But you know what? For a whole _year_ now, you've been leading me and Roxy along--"

"Tana! Shhh!" Conner sent desperate glances towards their Chem teacher who was trying, and failing, to stop the drama.

"-- breaking dates with us left right and centre while you play around with half the city and I'm fucking _sick_ of it, Conner. I am sick of it and I'm sick of you and I'm sick of you being so selfish and closed in--"

"Me? I'm the selfish one?" He let out a sharp, harsh laugh. "You spent all morning raving about how you nabbed a story with all its research from Metropolis East High for your competition article and _I'm_ the selfish one? Grow the hell up, you hypocrite!"

He saw her draw her arm back to slap him and he lifted his hand to block it. Instead, that tugging feeling started up in his chest. Conner tried to pull his arm back but Tana was already tumbling over her stool and into another pair of students. They crashed against the wall hard enough to shake the books off the shelving.

Horrified, he hugged his arms to himself but even that movement made the tugging increase. His lab set-up shattered; the students at the other table screamed and ran away from the flying glass and corrosives.

"Conner Kent, that's enough!" shouted the teacher. "Everyone out of the way!"

Someone tried to tackle him. He ducked away; they'd break their hands trying to punch him. The ceiling lights exploded. Stools slid across the floor and tables shook. Tana was crying. He made Tana cry. Conner covered his head with his arms and curled into a ball.

* * *

His reputation notwithstanding, Conner had only been in the principal's office twice-- once when he transferred in and once as a witness to a gang of bullies. Principal Jhadav was one of those rare adults who actually got it, who was actually cool because he didn't try so hard to be cool; he just was. No amount of punishment could have hit him harder in the gut than Jhadav saying, "I never thought I'd see you in here, Conner."

And now he was talking with his dad.

Conner focussed out of the waiting room and into the principal's office. "--am frankly amazed, Mr. Kent," Jhadav was saying in his funky Indo-British accent. "There has never been any indication of violence from or surrounding Conner. In fact, most teachers think of him as the peacekeeper because he refuses to be goaded into any altercations. If you'd told me yesterday that I would suspend him for assaulting another student, I would have laughed you out of the city."

Shit, he was going to be suspended. He hurt Tana and three other people in his class because he couldn't get a hold of his stupid powers and now, as icing on the cake, he was suspended. Conner dropped his head into his hands. Suck. Balls.

"I understand, Mr. Jhadav," said Dad. "And thank you for telling me this. I really don't understand it either unless..." He sighed. "My... my wife suffered a miscarriage just two days ago. We were all devastated. Conner was very much looking forward to finally having a sibling."

Jhadav hummed thoughtfully. "Has he seen anyone about his feelings towards the miscarriage?"

"N-no," Dad admitted. "It's still pretty raw. For all of us. He hasn't really... I guess I just assumed he was dealing with it."

"If I may, Mr. Kent, I suggest some sessions for Conner with a counsellor. The one here at school is quite good but if you'd prefer someone in private practice, that is also acceptable. A good young man like Conner doesn't just lash out like this without reason."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Jhadav. Please send my deepest apologies to Tana's family and the families of the other students."

"I will. Thank you, Mr. Kent."

Conner tuned out when he heard chairs rolling across the floor. He kept his head in his hands even when the door opened so he couldn't see his dad's expression. He was one-point-eight metres in height, almost over six feet, almost catching up to his dad but the hand on his shoulder felt like a giant bear's paw.

"Conner. Are you ready to go home?"

He nodded. He literally couldn't uncover his face. "Sorry," he whispered so that only Clark could hear.

His dad crouched down in front of him. "I know," he said in the same volume. "We'll talk about it somewhere else. Come on."

This time, when they ducked in an alley to change into their JL colours, Conner didn't protest being carried. Smallville's familiar acres of gold and green cornstalks whipped by underneath and his dad began to descend. But not to his grandma's house like he feared but out to the Kawatche caves. Relief suffused him. Jor-el was okay. He was just an AI. There was no way to disappoint a computer.

They entered the caves through a hole hidden by some brush, a mile away from the main entrance. "So, can you tell me what happened?" asked his dad.

It all came pouring out-- the stupid fight with Tana, that mission in Krysybestan when it all started and other power hiccups. Conner couldn't look at his dad while he talked, positive of his condemnation.

"I wish you'd told me all of this before," he said. "We could have consulted Jor-el and prevented a lot of grief on all parts."

Conner nodded. "I thought I'd get into trouble," he said, knowing how stupid the reasoning was in hindsight. Stupid hindsight. "I'm sorry, Dad. I really... I really totally fucked up."

Clark tousled his hair before putting a hand on his shoulder. He always did that. Conner had no idea what it was all about except maybe his dad really hated his haircut. He'd seen his dad's high school pics though; his hair had been just as shaggy.

"When I was your age, I was so angry at Jor-el, I blew up my spaceship," Clark said, his tone far-away. "What I didn't know was that Grampa Jonathan and Grandma were in the pickup in the driveway. The shockwave from the explosion flipped their car over. Grandma miscarried her baby."

Conner's jaw dropped. "But... but that was an accident," he said. "You didn't know they were coming."

"No, but I should've known better than to try to destroy anything Kryptonian within a hundred miles of any town. You caused a true accident; you don't know what's wrong or how to control it. I was just selfish and stupid, acting on my fear." He clapped Conner's shoulder.

By then, they'd reached the hollow holding the portal. His dad placed his octagonal key into the wall. Light shot out from the portal gate, leading the way into the control room. He dropped the crystal key into the hollow carved into the centre of the controls and pressed the sigils to spell "Fortress" in and green shot out from the crystal key, spread through the table and lit all the sigils as they orbited around the crystal. Clark tapped another sigil. The light went blinding white. Conner's skin tingled. The cave compressed around him into a dot of pure darkness then it dropped past his feet as the light threw him through a fold in space-time. When his body readjusted, he was inside the fortress.

"Welcome, my son," said Jor-el. "Welcome, son of my son."

Clark nodded stiffly. "Jor-el."

"Heya, Jor-el." Conner didn't understand his dad's animosity towards the AI. It wasn't real. It wasn't much fun either but at least interesting things happened when the crystals from the main console mixed around with other minor consoles. Not that Conner ever did that while his dad was around to see.

"Conner's been having some trouble with his powers," said Clark. "I need you to scan him for any abnormalities."

"You mean besides the fact that I exist?" Conner said under his breath.

"As you will, Kal-el. Kon-el, step on the platform for a diagnostic and describe the nature of the problem while I access my data banks."

"Things explode when I touch them," he said as lights from the platform and its surrounding crystals passed repeatedly over his body. "While it's happening, it feels like something's tugging on my skin, like my skin's made of rubber and someone's pinched a corner of it so they can drag it to wherever."

Sigils ran up the crystal closest to the main console. Conner wasn't at a correct angle to read them but his dad nodded his head. "Your forcefield's energy readings are fluctuating."

"Correct," said Jor-el. "The tugging sensation may be the instability of the forcefield."

"Why's it happening?" Conner wanted to know.

Jor-el paused. "Due to the randomised nature of the human genomes grafted on your genes, I estimate two hundred seventy possible variations, permutations and malfunctions. Of these, sixty-eight match the pattern of the energy fluctuations I have scanned."

Great, Conner thought, now he was a malfunction. He was beginning to see why his dad resented the AI so much. Apparently, Krypton didn't program with tact.

"Can you give us the three most likely?" Clark asked.

"Certainly. Kon-el may require more energy from the sun due to inefficient solar energy conversion in his cells. He may have weaker mental control over his energy-field. Conversely, he may be developing stronger control over his energy-field albeit uncontrolled at this moment. I suggest intensive training here--"

Clark cut him off right away. "That's what you said about my powers. I didn't let you trap me in here for twelve years and I'm not going to let you do that to my son."

"As you will. There will be consequences to your decision."

"Of course there are." Sighing, he said, "We'll be back for further consultation. Please just continue to analyse the data and alert me when you've found something useful. Come on, Conner."

The trip from the Arctic to Kansas always felt a lot rougher. Conner caught himself on the cave wall. The smoothed limestone crumbled to sand under his cheek. There would be imprints there later but at least he hadn't whipped a sandstorm with his freaky powers. "We've got to recalibrate that transporter."

"Would you like to do it? You've always been better than me at manipulating that thing." Clark retrieved the crystal the octagon key. "First things first: let's go milk cows."

Conner's expression dropped further. "Awww, come on! That's why Grandma hired hands to work the milking machines."

"It's good practice for your control and patience."

"I'm patient." At his dad's disbelieving look, he said, "I am usually. It's just that when I should know how to do something, I just should."

Clark said, "No getting out of this, son. You milk the cows, I'll try to distract you and if any of them kick you in the head and you get hurt, you can have an entire pie."

"That's a cheap bribe."

"Fortunately, it works." His dad slung an arm over his shoulders as they made their way back to the hidden entrance. "Fine motor skills are good habit to cultivate anyway. If or when we have a baby, your Aunt Lo's going to need a lot of help around the house."

"Free babysitting duties. Gotcha."

"Actually, I was referring to the League. I want to be there to help care for the baby too which means I can't spend as much time in the second job. I'll probably go into semi-retirement."

Conner stopped dead. "What? You can't do that! There's like a frillion and one things only Superman can do."

"I know. Which is why I hope you'd like to train to replace me."

For the second time since he moved in with his father, Conner was speechless.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

In the doctor-recommended three-month recovery period between IVFs, Lois poured her energy into two foci: whipping the City section into shape and researching pregnancy. Doing the latter was easy. Dr. Chapel created a nutrition plan and exercise goals, monitored through weekly progress reports. Lois actually ate proper breakfasts instead of her usual five coffees and a strudel. She'd always been a carnivore so having protein in wasn't a stretch but she now downed vegetables like she heard wind of a blight. Between all of that, she took a rainbow of vitamins and supplements. Before going home, she ran five miles in the DP gym, upped her weight training to twice a week, and swam laps every weekend. She also switched from plain kick-boxing to mixed martial arts although she'd have to quit as soon as she received the IVF.

It wasn't all for the baby's health. She figured if somehow someone figured out Superman had a baby, she'd have to be able to take them down. Besides, all the aggression from her decreased caffeine, alcohol and junk food intake had to go somewhere. She refused to give them up entirely at least until she got pregnant again.

Her new position as managing editor was a lot easier in comparison. She had a good team under her. Clark, of course, held the veteran reporting position along with Anna-Marie Raven, formerly of the Canadian Globe and Mail. The _Planet_ built a new trophy case just for the two of them and Lois, of course. In those august shoes, any other reporters would be intimidated but Satpal Dhillon and Ron Troupe rounded the group out nicely. Satpal could find dirt in a blizzard and Ron had the connections to pin them down. It didn't hurt that both wrote snappy copy, readable but not dumbed-down. The final member of the team was a rookie from art and comics, Kyle Rayner. Since Perry promoted Jimmy to head of the photography department, he rarely had the time to tag along for photos. Kyle appeared more comfortable behind his camera than out in the crowd but the kid would-- and once did-- hang upside down from a helicopter to get a perfect shot.

Lois rapped on tables as she headed for Perry's office. "Come on people! We can't have Monday Morning Masssacre without people to massacre."

"Ugh, that's the point," said Anna. She patted down her French twist. "There but by the grace of God go I."

"Hey, I'm the one who gave the go-ahead to lean on the senator's son for info. He has to yell at me."

"Remind me not to sit next to you."

Clark pulled an interdepartmental envelope from his outbox and put it in Lois' arms. "Infection rates for all the hospitals in Metropolis cross-referenced to the five biggest pharmaceutical companies that have their headquarters here."

"Summarize."

"Antibiotics are a one-off deal but antidepressants are forever. Guess which drugs the pharmaceutical-funded hospitals push?"

"Just what I wanted to hear."

Ron arrived last as the team found seats in the crowded boardroom. "What did I miss?" he asked.

"Lois just dry swallowed a multivitamin the size of my pinky," said Kyle.

"Can I do six inches of copy on that?"

"Maybe for Entertainment."

Perry's Monday Morning Massacres were now as much an institution at the Daily Planet as the revolving globe. The bastard had only gotten more cantankerous with age, eliciting prayers for retirement from the weak of heart, but Lois loved him to bits. His criticism hit everyone from the managing editors directly beneath him to the intern who bought the breakfast muffins. Everyone got whipped, everyone received the whipping at a hundred decibels. But on the flip side, he also gave everyone's suggestion a fair hearing. That was how Lois stuck her foot in the door fifteen years ago as a lowly classifieds intern who'd stumbled on an unresolved story in the archives. He'd chosen her angle over a semi-celebrity reporter.

Perry cracked the whip as soon as the hour struck. "Business! Why are you still writing things the Star put in the recycling bin last week?"

"I--"

"There's a Yale drop-out in Toronto whose Styrofoam-recycling business shot up a hundred fifteen percent in one quarter. Grill him. International--"

"Sir!"

"Doing good on the peace talks breakdown but you need better photos. Where the hell is my head of photography?"

Jimmy raised his camera high. "Here, Chief."

Perry wagged a finger at him, "Get your people to take better pictures or I'm taking away your raise and giving it to someone with less talent but more backbone."

"Uh, sure thing, Chief."

"City!"

Lois threw a stack of envelopes on the table. "There's plenty of evidence that pharmaceutical-funded hospitals are over-diagnosing depression to boost sales of--"

"Why is it, Lane, after all these years you still don't understand that _I_ massacre people on Mondays." Perry jerked a thumb at his chest. "Me. The Editor in Chief. Not you. I tell you what to do because I have a real brass plaque and bribe the goddamn owner with a bottle of Patron every quarter."

Lois cocked her hip to one side. "I want to show you the big story."

"I have the big story: Superboy's mom."

Clark dropped his pencil. Lois crossed her arms. "Perry, is this another cross with--"

"Entertainment! You're working with City on this angle."

If Cat Grant dared ruin her Jimmy Choos, she would have stomped. "You remember what happened the last time Lane and I had to work together?"

"Five thousand dollars in damages, a testicular retrieval for Lombard and triple the revenue for the quarter. Why do you think I want to do it again?" He clapped his hands. "According to the biggest gossip sites, who's on the running for Superboy's mom?"

"Wonder Woman," someone behind Lois called out.

"Superman's intersexed. Like banana slugs," said Anna.

Lois smacked her forehead with her palm. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I think that's kind of a nifty idea actually. For all the technology we've got so far, men still can't get pregnant. Let Superman show the way to reproductive equality!"

"Black Canary," said that bastard from Sports, Lombard. "Hubba, hubba."

"Black Canary's only been in the Justice League for six years," Clark said.

"Hey, who said Supes was only boinking the visible heroes? If I was him, I'd be getting with a dozen girls a country."

"If you were him, we'd all be suffering PTSD from seeing you in tight pants," Lois snarled. "Perry, I really think the hospitals--"

"You did the interview when Superboy got hurt in Central Asia, such as it was. People snapped it up--"

"Vultures."

"Polls went up about whether or not having Superboy and the rest of the Kiddie-League--"

"Young Justice," Clark and several others corrected.

"--should be considered endangerment of a minor or breaking some sort of child-labour law." Perry eagled-eyed the room. "The suits wants us to sell stories. And what sells stories?"

"Tragedy, sex and Superman," the staff chorused.

"Wrong! Right now it's tragedy, sex, Superman _and_ Superboy. We've over-saturated the readers with tragedy. An expose on Superboy's mom covers the other three."

"Unless Superman's intersexed like banana slugs," said Ron.

"My granddaughters belong to every Superboy fansite out there. I googled 'Superboy' and got twenty million hits. According to the Hot Honey's We'd Total Prom List from Teen Vogue--" Perry brandished a garishly designed print-out-- "Superboy is number three. He beat out Pax Jolie-Pitt, for pete's sake! And our older readers can feel for Superman. He's an all-powerful being but he worries about his kid getting hurt. You can't make a mistake with this project."

"What about the part where we inform the public? Especially about criminal acts happening in their own backyard?" Lois demanded.

"Lane, we've had this conversation--"

"It's actually an argument."

"-- a million times before. We need to humanise Superman. He's a great guy, he does great things but the fact of the matter is, at any moment, right or wrong, someone's going to remember he's an all-powerful alien. We're helping him."

"By writing tabloid trash about his private life?"

"Yes. Grant knows this; people let their favourite celebs get away with anything because those stories make them feel like they're part of the stardust. You know this. You _started_ this when you wrote that first personal interview."

Lois' eyes narrowed, meeting Perry's equally sharp stare. Beside her, Clark tapped his pencil against the proposal. "If we do this--"

"You can have a full-page exposé on the hospitals."

"Fine."

Clark raised his hand. Perry acknowledged him "Yes, Kent?"

"Out of curiosity," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Who do you all think Superboy's mother is?"

"Wonder Woman," was the unanimous answer.

That night, sensing her mood, Lois' martial arts instructor partnered her up himself. He didn't want anyone else in the class to get hurt.

* * *

The most difficult part of the entire pregnancy project was the waiting. After S.T.A.R. okayed Lois' for a second IVF in the fall, Clark had nothing else to do. He didn't know what scared him more-- the zygotes failing to implant or another positive result with all the possible complications. Some days he wished he'd never brought the subject up. He thought he'd grown out of selfishness a long time ago.

September became October which became November and when rescuing MSF volunteers from battlefields failed to ease his panic, he created side projects such as a translator for Maland Barda, the prisoner from the Krysybestan sinkholes. Victor built the electronic part but nothing on Earth could instantly translate millions of languages so Clark embedded all the languages in the Fortress' information banks into a toothpick-sized crystal to act as the translator's database.

He showed the translator to their mystery guest, currently residing in an annex of the UN Headquarters in New York City. He made a big production of inserting the crystal sliver into the main component of the earpiece, then hooked it around his left ear before pressing it on.

"No harm done to me," said Clark. "Now you try it." He turned the translator off and held it out.

She plucked it from Clark's hand, turned it around and shook it. Victor, who stood behind Clark, tensed, worried about his project. "Ahnes keh," she said, pointing to the kryptonian crystal.

"Translation crystal," said Clark. "Crystal. Um, Krypton."

Recognition widened her eyes and she spoke in her half-growled, consonant-biting language, gesturing to the floor then at Clark. One of the words almost sounded like "Krypton."

Clark shook his head. "Put the translator on." He pointed to the object in her hand then mimed putting it in his ear.

Seeing no other recourse, she did as was told.

[[Can you understand me now?]] Clark asked in Kryptonian.

[[Yes, although I must ask how you survived when so few War Dogs returned to Darkseid after your world fell into war.]] Maland leaned back distrustfully. [[Who is your leader?]]

[[I do not have a Kryptonian leader,]] said Clark.

[[Aaah, you deserted. Ignoble but at least you live. What are you called, Kryptonian?]]

[[Kal-el of the House of El.]]

Maland let out what could have been a laugh. Or maybe it was a snort. Heck, it could have been a burp for all they knew. [[The House of El, the heart of the war. Your civil war demolished the War Dogs and allowed the Lowlies to rise against Darkseid.]]

"What are you two biddies gossiping about?" Victor wanted to know.

"Apparently Krypton's civil war helped their civil war and I'm not sure if I should apologize or offer congratulations," said Clark. "She's holding her cards very close to her chest."

"I'd say that's a sure sign of being on the losing side. Have you asked her what she's doing here?"

"Will do." Clark returned his attention to Maland, smiling in what he hoped would be translated as sincerity. Instead, she stilled, like a deer caught in headlights.

"What did you do?" Victor hissed.

"I don't know. I just smiled."

"Maybe on her planet, you smile before you stab someone."

Clark stared up at his teammate "You watch too many science fiction movies."

"No such thing, Boy Scout."

He tried again. [[I apologise on behalf of our planet for keeping you sedated and incarcerated for such a long time. Your actions after leaving the pod were translated as hostile. My friends and I had difficulties convincing the local government otherwise.]]

[[You apologise for imprisonment.]] Maland bowed her head and lightly tapped her brow. [[Other worlds are indeed different from Apokolips. What does one do with an apology?]]

[[Uh, generally, we accept it.]]

[[I see. Very well then, you may give me an apology.]] She held her hand out.

[[Like this.]] Clark showed her, clasping her hand and shaking it slowly up and down. [[It is a greeting and a sign of peace, each side showing they hold no weapons.]]

[[What a strange land this is,]] said Maland. [[But you did not take me from my prison to show me the planet's customs. What is it that you want?]]

[[A sharing of information,]] Clark said. [[The joint leaders of the United Nations will release you into our custody provided you tell us about your planet and why you are here.]]

[[If you dislike the answer I give, what will you do?]]

[[I cannot answer for the UN but if you and your people intend to harm our world, short of killing you, I would do everything in my power to ensure you fail even if that means keeping you sedated for the rest of your life]] Strength crept into his voice, something she recognized by the twist in her lips.

[[You have held me for two forty-days and I harmed no one who harmed me first,]] said Maland. [[The young one who broke my pod in the outside, he resembles you. He is your spawn.]]

[[He is.]] Clark tensed slightly. Was she threatening Conner?

[[He is strong but has no technique. Such power should be trained three times as hard.]]

[[We are working on it. What is your answer, Maland? Will you take the deal?]]

[[Maland? What is that? Do you insult me, coward of Krypton?]]

Nonplussed, Clark said, [[Your name is Maland Barda, is it not? That was what you said earlier when we spoke without translators.]]

She bared her teeth. She might have been trying to smile. [[This translator is not Krypton-made else it would have interpreted my call name, the name I forged in Granny Goodness' orphanage. I am Big Barda, Darkseid's Elite, third only to the royal line of Apokalips, bred to lead Furies into battle and slaughter.]]

Clark was not liking her speech. Discreetly, he signalled "Ready on mark" to Victor. Victor's cybernetics hummed, his extra generators kicking in.

Hands gripping the table edge, she half rose from her seat. [[I could have crushed my guard with my bare hands and did not. I am Big Barda, traitor to Darkseid who cast aside a hundred years of honourable servitude to follow Prince Free, Second-Son, to a doomed rebellion.]]

Victor's fists clenched and unclenched. "What the fuck is going on, Blue? Is she going to kick our asses again or is it going to be death by monologue this time?"

Clark just shook his head and gestured, "Hold."

[[I will tell you everything, give you everything I have if only you let me return to Apokalips and avenge Prince Free. I will wrench their heads from their shoulders. I will grind their eyes under my heels. I will raise my mighty hand and blast them all into oblivion and in my final breath, I will slay Darkseid, God-Killer. He dared send my prison pod away, banished, alone, when I could have died at my prince's side.]] With the pronouncement, Barda sat back in her chair, panting as though she'd run a marathon.

Clark leaned forward. [[What if I told you there were other pods?]]

* * *

Interview accomplished, Clark and Victor left the holding annex to meet Diana in one of the many lounges at UN Headquarters proper. Since she was here on official capacity, she wore her uniform. Ornately filigreed metal epaulettes hinged into her eagle-shaped half-cuirass. Similar armour sheathed her shins and banded her forearms. Like all Amazon objects, their beauty belied their use; the metal looked like gold but standard bullets shattered on the breastplate. Her vambraces, blessed by Olympian gods, deflected any projectile. Under the armour, she wore a red and blue version of the exercise costumes. After all, she didn't need the protection.

She stood when Clark and Victor entered the room but not because of any perceived ranking. She was an Amazon of Themyscira for longer than she'd been a part of the JL, royal etiquette didn't fade after a mere ten years in Man's World. "What news?"

"Ask ET," said Victor, pointing his thumb back at Clark. "They went on and on, one of them grunting, the other one trilling-- it sounded like rhino talking to a kazoo."

Grinning, he recited his conversation with Barda verbatim. "I don't think she'll be hostile," he said in the end.

Victor snorted again.

"I'm afraid 'I don't think' will be acceptable to the UN Defence Council," said Diana.

"You know as well as I do that absolutes don't exist," said Clark.

"What of her home world?"

"There's nothing in the Fortress about Apokalips or anyone named Darkseid. It's like someone wiped it out of the historical banks."

"Or she could be lying her rump off," Victor said. "It's a big, curvy rump. You can fit a lot of lying in there."

"She seems honest to me," Clark maintained.

"Kal, I thought we all agreed that your trust-o-meter is stuck on _Disney_. You trust Batman and he hates your guts."

"He _is_ trustworthy, just narrow-minded, obsessive and completely lacking in self-preservation. Besides, the man who raised and trained Nightwing can't be that bad."

"Nightwing's trust-o-meter? Also stuck on Disney, the Saturday morning specials."

Diana intervened. "Do you think this Darkseid poses a threat to Earth?"

"I think it depends on who else is in those pods," said Clark. "Barda says to her knowledge, her prison pod was kept in, and I quote, the deepest molten pit where only traitors to Darkseid are doomed to suffer for all eternity, end quote."

"Are there many traitors to Darkseid?"

"Five in the history of his reign; she and Prince Free are two of them." Clark shrugged. "It's not a lot and we're going on the word of one person but I think any information is better than none at all. I propose taking Barda under heavy security back to Krysybestan. She can translate the rest of the pods so we know who's in there. If needed, we can prepare for a possible invasion by Darkseid."

Diana nodded. "Do you have any other suggestions, Cyborg?"

"As long as heavy security means we can launch a bazooka if she twitches the wrong way, I'm okay," said Victor.

"Very well then, we shall present this-- you look perturbed, Kal-el."

Apologetically, Clark said, "Would it be all right if you and Cyborg speak to the Council without me? The interview took longer than I anticipated and my family expected me hours ago."

"Oh yeah! It's Thanksgiving." Victor couldn't help but grin. "Man, I'm sorry to miss your mo-- uh, family's cooking."

"You're always invited, you know that."

"I'd love to but I promised Sara I wouldn't let her go to the big family reunion alone. Apparently, there's a creepy Uncle Mike."

Realising their conversation excluded Diana, Clark asked, "Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

She shook her head. "Etta and I attend her friends' dinners some years and in others, I have been invited as an official for dinners, but we have never celebrated it on our own."

An awkward silence came between them. Clark never quite knew what to do when his private life poked into League life. He trusted Diana almost as much as Ollie and considered her a good friend but he couldn't risk any more people knowing his civilian identity. Worse, Diana had always been open to him about her life. He'd met her partner, Etta, several times. If only Lois knew Etta resented the Wonder Woman-Superman contingent as much as she did.

"Go on, Kal-el," said Diana. "Carve your turkey."

"I've already missed that," said Clark. "See you both later and take care."

Somewhere over eastern Canada, he remembered Conner had training at the Watchtower today. He veered on a more easterly route. He might as well give Ollie and his son a lift back to Kansas. Ollie never missed Thanksgiving in Smallville, citing an incurable addiction to Martha Kent's pumpkin pie.

Once at the Watchtower, however, Young Justice met him with grave, guilty expressions. "What's wrong?" he asked Wondergirl.

"There was an incident in The Kitchen," she said. "Green Arrow isn't very happy with Superboy right now."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Beastboy and Ray in the infirmary along with two other Leaguers and eight support staff."

"What?" Clark broke into a run.

"It was an accident!" Wondergirl called after him. "It's not his fault!"

Ollie was in his office on the third floor of the north annex. Clark took several deep breaths to keep from pulling the door out. He had to act like an adult and a member of the Justice League even with his best friend and teammate yelling at his son.

He knocked on the door. "Green Arrow, it's me."

The yelling stopped. The door opened. "You might as well come in," said Ollie. "You'd just listen in anyway."

He left Clark to close the door, returning behind his desk. Conner stood before him, shaking with stiffness. Clark briefly touched his son's shoulder then stood to the left of the desk, in a neutral position between the two.

"What's going on?" asked Clark.

"What's going on is I'm suspending Superboy from active duty until further notice," Ollie said.

"I didn't mean to--" Conner shouted.

"_I don't care,_" Ollie snarled back. "Twelve people are in medbay with Cross right now and nine of them weren't even in The Kitchen."

Clark turned to his son. "Conner?"

"It's my E-field fluctuating thing," he said. "I thought J'Onn's exercises-- I don't know what happened! I pushed one of the robots out of the way and then everything started flying around me and I couldn't stop it and I didn't mean to hurt everyone--"

"But you did," said Ollie. "The Ray and Elongated Man tried to contain him. Whatever he did threw them hard enough against the Kitchen walls to knock them out. Then he ripped the doors open and slammed it against Beastboy."

"By accident!" Conner insisted.

"Everything loose in that hallway went airborne and all the doors look like they've been punched in by a crane. For God's sake, Sue and Marvin have concussions! I agreed to keep you on active duty if you got this under control but even after months of training under J'Onn, I'm not seeing any progress."

Conner crossed his arms and flopped back on the closest chair.

Clark cleared his throat. "Conner, could you excuse us for a minute?"

"If you're sure I won't murder people when I sneeze," he muttered but stomped out of the room.

"If you do, you're fired," Ollie shot back.

"Arrow!" Clark snapped. He closed the door. "You're being too hard on him."

"I know he's your kid, Kal, but that's the reason why I'm being so tough. You two are arguably the most powerful beings on this Planet. You don't have the luxury of having accidents because when you have accidents, people get hurt. People could die."

"I know that! I'm aware, every second of my life, that if I breathe the wrong way, I could cause a five-car pile-up. I broke three of my mom's ribs when I was seven because I hugged her too hard. I _know_, Ollie, and he does too. We're working on it. He just needs some time."

"And I'm giving him that time. You'd do the same in my place."

Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. "But did you have to do it like that?"

Sighing, Ollie finally fell onto his chair. "I can't treat him differently because he's your kid. Not even if it means I give up my portion of pumpkin pie tonight."

"You didn't have to shout. Just because you ripped the entire vigilante idea from Batman, it doesn't mean you have to mimic his attitude, too."

"Fine. The next time someone fucks up this royally, I'll play Enya and use the Sandwich Method of Constructive Criticism. Jesus, Kal."

Clark knew Ollie was right but he didn't have to like it. This was why he left disciplinary action up to Ollie and Diana. "My girl's going to rip you a new one," he said as a way of apologising.

His friend grinned. "She just does that to make you jealous. Go grab your kid, wipe the snot off his chin and let's go have that turkey. And I didn't rip the entire idea off of Batman."

"Of course not. It's a complete coincidence that, earlier in your career, you had an Arrowcycle, a teenage sidekick in bright colours and thematic weapons. Oh, and your voice-changer kind of sounds like him, too."

The best part of heightened strength was the pained grimace on Ollie's face every time he tried to sucker-punch Clark in revenge.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Good as dinner was, Conner barely finished his third serving. He knew he shouldn't be pissed off at Ollie when they were out of uniform, especially when his stories about Dad and Aunt Lo were perfect blackmailing material. He and Bart were pretty cool outside of the League. And he really wasn't pissed off _at_ Ollie so much as pissed off that he was right. About everything. His fuck-up measurements went way off scale.

Things weren't better in school. After the lab thing in September, no one wanted to talk to him all of a sudden except for those anarchy dweebs who thought spray-painting quasi-Satanist symbols behind the scoreboard was the height of cool. Tana wouldn't even look at him and Roxy ducked into random doors when she saw him coming down the hall. Anytime he acted any way except happy, he got a message in his school login from the guidance counsellor. On the upside, his video game top scores smashed records.

"Hey, you." Lois poked his side. "How did you defeat this scene so quickly? It took me four hours of game-play to get enough power and ammo."

"I'm gifted," said Conner.

Her brows crinkled. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"You sure? You're not just doing the House of El thing where you say you can handle it but really, it's gripping you by the gonads and whipping you around like a towel during the Stanley Cup playoffs?"

He dredged up a smile. "I'm sure, Aunt Lo."s

"Liar. But I'll get it out of you." She ruffled his hair. "Pause that for a sec. I want you to help me give your dad his Christmas present."

"Hey, why does he get his present early and I don't?"

"Because he whines more. Come on."

Quickly ducking into the overnight bags, they went to the kitchen where Bart, Clark and Martha cupped spiced apple ciders and picked at pie crumbs. Seeing them enter, Clark's grin widened. Some of Conner's depression faded. He would give anything to be able to do that, to just sit there and _smile_ and somehow telepathically share feelings. With his own girlfriends, he'd stick his foot in his mouth so many times, he had a special barbeque sauce for it.

Lois draped herself on Clark's lap and pecked his check. "Conner has something for you from me."

"And it's so dangerous, you want a middle-man?"

"Something like that." Lois nodded and Conner, trying not to be mechanic, handed the little blue gift bag over.

Clark drew out a six-inch plastic indicator. Looking over his shoulder, Conner saw a little pink plus sign.

"We're pregnant again!" Lois yelled, throwing her hands up. The little gathering exploded into cheers. Conner mashed his grandmother, Bart and Ollie into the group hug and there might have been a stray kiss on his chin and he wanted to be ecstatic, he really, really did but his chest felt a little too tight. He pulled away, dragging both hands through his hair.

"That totally rocks, Aunt Lo," he said, probably for the tenth time.

"I'm thinking we should start looking for a new place," Lois said. "Poor Conn's already stuffed in a closet and with the baby coming, there'll be even less room."

"What kind of real estate are you looking for?" asked Ollie.

"Somewhere I can come and go without people seeing me by accident," said Clark. "Right now, we're conveniently surrounded on three sides by brick walls overlooking alleyways."

"Why don't you just take my penthouse?"

Clark and Lois were thunderstruck. Conner was sure his face looked the same. "The penthouse on Queen Tower? The one with its own elevator and the little waterfall going into the hot tub on the patio? And the TV big enough to eat this house?"

"Hey, the bossman said I could get the TV," Bart said, laughing.

"We couldn't accept," said Clark. "Our salaries can't pay for something like that."

"Dude, the Prince of Wales couldn't afford the Queen Tower penthouse," said Conner.

Ollie sighed. "It's a gift. Everyone knows I'm friends with former-Senator Kent and her family. Just make sure that kid knows who her favourite uncle is going to be."

"Deal," Lois said. She grabbed Ollie's hand for a shake. "I was worried for a second you'd ask us to name her Olivia."

"Don't be ridiculous. I hated my name as a kid."

Her brow arched up. She wouldn't have pegged Ollie as being anything but comfortable in his skin. "What's wrong with it?"

"A production of Oliver in middle school."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, nothing like a Dickensian morality play to make privileged, Mayflower in-breeders feel better about themselves," said Ollie, taking a sip of wine shortly after. "Marian's nice for a girl; Jackson for a boy."

Hiding his smile behind his beer, Clark said, "Not Robin?"

"Jesus, no! You want to curse the kid into becoming Bat-like?"

"I say Dawn for a girl," said Bart.

Clark made a considering sound. "I actually like that."

"Or Barry after his coolest uncle."

Martha covered her mouth with a napkin, pretending to cough. From there, the adult conversation devolved into arguments over baby names. Even Grandma got involved, vetoing Clark's continued insistence on "Jonathan" or "Joseph." It was cool in that sitcom way then suddenly, like a kick to the ribs, Conner missed his mom. Chloe would fit in so well there, laughing with her old friends, drinking Irish coffee and teasing everyone with fifty-dollar words just like in Aunt Lo and Dad's stories. She would've loved to see her two best friends with a baby.

Thanksgiving dinner hardened into rock at the bottom of his stomach. He had to escape for a while. "Is it okay if I go visit a friend?" Conner asked. "I just remembered I promised we'd hang out and since I'm spending the weekends for the next hundred years trying to control my whack-job of a power, I think I should drop by."

"Why of course, dear." Martha immediately stood to pack him baked goodies. "Bring some snacks while you're out."

"Thanks, Grandma."

"Give us a call around ten," Lois said as he took the bag and made for the front door.

"Yeah, totally." He hit the porch at a near run--

-- neatly slamming into his dad. "Conner." Clark braced both hands on his shoulders. "I'm proud of you, son. You know that, right?"

A vise clamped around his ribs and squeezed. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, Dad."

"Having a baby doesn't mean we're going to love you less."

Muffling a groan, Conner said, "Geez, Dad, I _know_!"

He grinned. "I know you know. But sometimes, it's nice to hear out loud."

"You're such a sap." But it was. It really was.

* * *

A house as formidable as Robbie's-- Tim's-- would, naturally, have a housekeeper. She actually let him in with his half-joking "Hi! Can Tim come out to play?" and settled him in the formal living room with a soda and nachos in a crystal platter. She probably hand-made the nachos, milked a cow to get the cheese, and blew into syrup and water to carbonate the soda.

This time, he heard Robin coming. Ha! The younger boy showed up with his arm in a light sling, confused. "What are you doing here?" Tim asked.

"Would you believe hanging out for Thanksgiving? Are you and your folks finished having dinner?"

"They're at the fundraising dinner for the Martha Wayne Foundation. It's just me and Yolanda."

That was kind of sad. Conner suddenly realised why someone who grew up in a place like this would want to train under Batman. He admired the man, sure, but he knew he was a hardass. "Well, I'm kind of grounded for life starting tomorrow so I thought I'd better live up my last hours of freedom."

"Um, all right. What do you want to do?"

"You got a PlayStation?"

Ten minutes later, ensconced in the games room with two litres of Zesti and a Tex-Mex feast, Conner and Tim rocked their band to classic alternative and heavy metal.

"What's up with the arm?" Conner asked as he bashed fake drums.

"Second dislocation in a month," said Tim. "I have to rest it completely for the next three weeks or else the doctor says the damage will be permanent and it'll keep popping out."

"Sucks."

"Understatement. Why are you grounded?"

"I accidentally wiped out twelve people during practice." He held his breath for the reaction.

Tim missed a note. "How?"

Conner explained all the times his energy field went wacky, leaving out Lois' name where pertinent and ending at the argument between his dad and Green Arrow.

"I'm sorry," said Tim.

"What for? You're not the one who pitched a door at Sue."

"I'm team leader. I should have been there and found a way to minimise damage."

Conner snorted. "Dude, I know you Gotham types are freakishly capable and all but unless you had a Peterbilt in your utility belt, there was no way to stop me. Even Kryptonian tech can't figure it out. Last we heard, I need to use my mind to control it, whatever that means."

"Like telekinesis."

"I guess. J'Onn's helping me figure it out." Their virtual rock band jumped into the audience to crowd surf, flipping to the next level of gameplay.

"Are you meditating?" Tim asked.

"Does zoning out in history count?" At his smirk, Conner said, "I try but, jokes about my flakiness aside, it's not easy to think of nothing. Something always comes up."

"Maybe you should try--"

Conner threw a nacho at him. "No. Nein. Nyet. Iie. I'm here to hang out with my best bud, not to do more work."

Tim missed another note. "Right." Half the song passed before he spoke again, "That being the case, our conversation's really limited considering we only have work in common."

"We can talk about people at work."

"Right. Because that's not fraught with danger."

Conner whistled. "Is your housekeeper a spy?"

"No. And she's home by now. Her home, I mean."

"Are there bugs in the house?"

"Of course not," said Tim. "I do a sweep once a week." At Conner's astonished expression, he said, "I don't have time to do it more than once a week--"

"You are all scary as fuck. No one's here to listen in, so we can talk about whatever we want. I don't get to do this, like, at _all_. Everyone in school is all weird and hates me right now and as of this afternoon, so does everyone in the Watchtower, at least the ones left who don't already hate me for calling Roy a junkie so my point is--" He stopped.

"Your point is?" Tim prodded.

"Dude, I have no idea." Conner snickered. "My train of thought totally left the station without me."

A grin forced itself onto Tim's face. "Are you sure you're not a natural blond?"

"Missing Cissie already?" Conner shot back.

"I miss her clear-sightedness and guidance," said Tim. "We're not going out."

"Totally. Which is why one time I walked in on you guys sleeping together."

Tim threw him a withering look. "We've never slept together like that. There aren't a lot of beds in the Watchtower and I trust her to cover my back when I'm asleep."

"Suuure, Mr. Nice Guy." Conner winked during an easy section in the song.

Tim paused the game. Turning to face him, he said in crisp tones, "I'm not going out with Arrowette. I've never gone out with Arrowette. I will never go out with Arrowette. Drop it."

"Why not? She's hot! Is it the height thing, 'cause you'll get taller eventually. Maybe. Or she could wear flats forever."

"I like guys."

One of Conner's drum sticks fell out of his hand. He caught it before it hit the ground. "Yeah. That's problematic. Not being gay," he hurried to amend, seeing Tim's expression freeze. "Dating Cissie would be problematic if you're gay 'cause obviously, you wouldn't be attracted to her bits since the bits you like come in a set of three not two even though hers are small enough that it'd probably pass and I should probably shut up any time soon except my mouth keeps moving even though my brain's empty oh look the last burrito." Conner stuffed the entire thing into his mouth.

Tim burst out laughing. It was a deep, gut-busting, falling on the floor to roll type of laughter, the kind he hadn't thought possible for Bats. Relieved, he watched Tim slowly crumple onto the couch, howling, his breath coming out in hiccups.

"I needed that." Tim wiped tears from his eyes. "God, I think I hurt my shoulder again but it was worth it."

"Glad to be of service," said Conner. "You're off your meds, aren't you?"

That nearly set him off again. After a shorter fit, he slumped into the couch cushions. It was the most relaxed he'd ever seen Tim. A light lit above Conner's head.

"You just figured it out. Officially, acknowledged to yourself type of figure-out. The kind where you start wearing purple pins and sticking rainbow stickers on your locker."

Tim sniffed. "I'd never do that. Who I sleep with is nobody's business. But yes, I finally came out to myself yesterday."

Game forgotten, Conner asked, "Dude! What set it off?"

"My harddive crashed and I realised I was more worried about losing my gay porn than my law paper." At his hoot of laughter, Tim said, "Do you know how hard it is to circumvent the safeguards Batman put on my personal computer so that I _could_ download porn? I could probably ace Comp Tech thanks to my porn."

"Every time you're at monitor duty, all I'm going to hear is bow-chicka-bow-wow-oooooh-yeeaaah." Conner chuckled then snorted as he tried not to stop. "Jesus, Gar! Gar's going to flip his fucking lid when you tell him."

"I actually wasn't planning on telling him or anyone else in YJ," said Tim. "It's personal and only marginally related to work."

"But what if you go out with someone from JL?"

"I'm not. It's not professional."

"Dude, there are a lot of very muscled men in very tight clothing at the Watchtower."

"There are a lot of women too and I don't see you--" He stopped. "Okay, bad analogy. My point is it's not professional so I won't do it."

Conner rolled his eyes. "You Bats. Always emotionally constipated. Come on, let's finish this setlist off. I gotta be home by midnight."

"Fine." A few seconds passed, then, "Conner?"

"Dude?"

"Thanks. For not... well, for being cool about it all."

"Dude, best friend, remember?"

"Yeah. I guess you are."

Conner bopped his head in beat with the current song. Their band smashed through the next four levels and was on the verge of going international. He wasn't a completely friendless loser and Robin, who was pretty much the only kid the League trusted, in turn trusted _him_ with coming out. The day didn't seem to be as bad as it started out.

"Let's pretend the fate of the world and everyone in it depended on you --"

"No, Conner, I would not sleep with anyone in the League."

"But not even Nightwing? Everyone loves--"

"I will hurt you and smile."

* * *

The dusting of snow around Thanksgiving stuck. Ten inches fell on Conner's birthday early in December and continued to fall on a regular basis for the rest of the month, making for a very white in Christmas. Without Clark periodically blowing the road clear, they would never have made it to Smallville. Martha urged them to stay home if it wasn't safe; they knew she just loved having company in the old farm house, suddenly huge and empty.

For the first time since he took the crown of Atlantis, A.C. came for an extended visit with his wife, a stately woman named Mera who marvelled at the winter weather. He also brought his kids, Lorena and Arthur, nine and five respectively. Ollie came alone, the running gag being when he finally brought a girl over for Christmas, it would be a sign of his impending nuptials and, soon afterward, the end of the world. Victor brought Sara, one of the staffers at the Watchtower, known to the gang as his not-girlfriend but she had to leave after dinner Bart arrived last, ironically, also alone. He was off-again with his girlfriend this month. J'Onn would not come until late in the morning for Christmas brunch.

"I hear you're expecting again," A.C. said to Lois, in a conversational lull.

She rubbed her belly self-consciously. His formal tones still surprised her although she knew the beach bum had long grown up. "Yup. Four weeks and two days."

He gave her a pendant made of coral and inlaid with dozens of tiny pearls, no bigger than champagne bubbles. "It's a health charm for you and the baby. Mera made it."

"I can't take this!" She pushed it back. "It's gorgeous. And obviously has a lot of meaning."

"She made it for you," said A.C. "Atlanteans don't have a lot of kids but even so, miscarriages are rare. When Clark told us about what happened to you, she cried for a week straight. Please take it, just to settle her mind."

"I... okay then. Thanks. Thanks Mera," she called over her shoulder.

Spiced cider in hand, Ollie gestured to the porch. Lois and A.C. followed, grabbing their own mugs. Smallville nights were wonderful, air crisp on your face and the warmth of the house at your back. The stars were so numerous they matched the sparkle of the icy hills. The snow had stopped hours ago.

"How _is_ life in the lap of luxury, King Orin?" Ollie asked.

A.C. snorted. "It's a rank bitch. I knew I didn't want this job the first seven times they offered and now I don't have a choice. I--" He stopped and look over his shoulder through the window. "I got lucky marrying Mera. We actually like each other and she has the history for the place. She loves Atlantis, y'know? I just... I don't even know what I'm doing there half the time."

"You loved it enough to get a nifty new appendage," Lois said.

A.C. lifted his left arm. In place of his hand was a glimmering harpoon hook. "This was for Lorena. I guess you can say everything I'm doing is for my kids."

"Lian's almost ten," said Ollie. "As of next year, I've been a grandpa for ten years and I'm not even fifty. How is that even possible?"

Lois contemplated her drink. "That means Roy's in his thirties. Oh my God, it's surreal. When did he stop being your annoying, adopted sidekick?"

"The way you get around, I'm still surprised you only have two biological kids." A.C. smirked. He almost looked like his old self.

"Oh, shut up, fishstick. Don't you start, too, Lane. I know you're going to bring the ex up."

They leaned against the porch railing. The quiet kept them company until all the cider was drunk. Inside, Bart and Arthur raced animated go-karts against Clark and Lorena. The little girl sat comfortably ensconced in Clark's lap, hollering commands at the television screen, her red-gold braids wiggling.

"She's never like that with strangers," said A.C.

Propping her chin on her hand, Lois said, "Clark's always been great with kids. The ones in our building adore him. They call him Uncle Clark and swing off his arms. He even goes to all the family-themed activities, y'know, the pool parties and potlucks in the barbeques." Her hand trailed down to her abdomen again.

"Some people are meant to be fathers."

"Then there's us. Who'd've thought we could be parents." Ollie shook his head and took a sip of his cider. "When I look at any of my kids, I can barely believe they're functional members of society."

"We _are_ kind of the poster children for birth control," said Lois.

"I'll second that." A.C. raised his mug and they all toasted his words.

For Lorena and Arthur's sake, everyone turned in early. The children didn't celebrate Christmas in Atlantis but A.C. had told them about the kind sorcerer, Santa Claus, who snuck into houses to reward good boys and girls. As guests of honour, the Atlantean contingent took Clark's old bedroom. Everyone else hunkered down in the living room, pushing aside couches to make room for air mattresses even as Victor complained about lubing his joints. Ollie hummed "If I Only Had a Heart" from _Wizard of Oz_ until Lois threatened to castrate him with an egg beater. Conner and Bart stayed up all night to play video games; they were still hissing insults at each other when Clark got up the next morning to milk the cows. He ordered Bart to set the gifts under the tree then dragged a suddenly lethargic Conner to help him with morning chores.

Royal etiquette flew out the frosty windows when Lorena and Arthur saw all the brightly coloured presents. They rushed through the living room, tripping over Ollie's long legs even as their father told them to hush-- others were still sleeping. J'Onn pushed through the backdoor in his human disguise, bags of food and presents balanced either arm. Martha descended the stairs arm in arm with Mera, trading finer points of Atlantean Council versus the American Senate. They chatted while making a feast of chocolate chip waffles, French toast out of walnut bread, omelettes stuffed with red and green bell peppers and cheddar smokies. Conner returned from the barn in time to prep the ingredients, unable to deny his grandmother's request. Disgusted by their domesticity, Lois made the best damn coffee ever before showing Lorena the mysterious workings of a hula hoop.

"The loot counts are pretty high for the kids and Mom but I don't see many presents for us," Clark teased his friends. "Didn't we feed you enough?"

"Naw, dude, your present is such that you're going to owe us for years," said Bart. "We're all going to help you move into Ollie's old digs."

"This includes renovations for the important things in your life-- soundproofing, tinted windows, surveillance sensors on the exteriors and all access points, state of the art alarm system, a hidden closet for your uniform and, last but not least, a direct patch from the nursery to the Watchtower. No need to thank me, the yearning look on Lois' face as I take my second cup of coffee is thanks enough." Ollie wafted the cup under Lois' nose and took a big slurp.

Their offer could not have come at a better time. The day after Christmas, Lois rolled out of her sleeping bag running and barely made it to the kitchen sink before she vomited. At Martha's insistence, she stayed in the master bedroom until she felt better. By dinner, she was still hugging a bucket. Clark came upstairs to help her clean up and offer whatever comfort he could.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked.

"I want to eat leftover Christmas ham, broccoli salad and that pilaf thing J'Onn brought but I know I wouldn't be able to keep it down." Lois punched the mattress. "I'm hungry for something other than flat ginger ale and dry toast."

Clark shifted down the bed, taking the blankets with him. He lifted Lois' shirt, ignoring her protesting squawks about the cold air, and lightly rested his chin on her stomach. "Hello, little one," he said. Lois curled his hands around his hair. "Please stick around. We'd love to meet you."

Sniffing away her tears, Lois drew him up by the ears for a kiss. "Goddamn hormones. I think I hate this part of pregnancy the most."

"I don't want to squash you," he said.

"You're not squashing; you're warming." They kissed again.

"You know it's love when you've just vomited and I still give you tongue."

"You!" Lois smacked his shoulder. Addressing her stomach, she said, "Baby, I leached all the romanticism from your dad. I just wanted to warn you."

Laughing, Clark returned to his original purpose. "I can give you toast wafted over raspberry jam and flat club soda."

Lois reluctantly nodded. "And I haven't taken my vitamins at all today."

"I'm sure it won't matter if you miss a couple days."

"Considering the delicacy of this pregnancy, that's a risk I don't want to take. Give me my bland food already; maybe if I eat it while smelling ham..." Colour leached from her cheeks. "Never mind. Oh, God. Bucket!"

"I was thinking," Clark said when she lifted her head up again, "maybe we shouldn't, um, we shouldn't make love while you're pregnant."

"Ugh, Smallville, are you kidding me? Pregnant sex is awesome sex."

"But the last time, you miscarried."

"And Chapel said it had nothing to do with love-making."

Stubbornly, he kept on. "I've been reading up on it. Orgasms contract the uterus just like in labour. In high-risk pregnancies, doctors do recommend cessation of sex until they think it's safe."

Lois peered at him through her bangs, unimpressed. "I'm too pukey to talk about this coherently and you're being too paranoid to make sense. We'll talk about it with Chapel in our next visit and I'm going to demand retribution when she tells us that sex is perfectly safe. Until then--" She hunched over the bucket again.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Between Christmas and New Year's Day, the original inner circle made the penthouse habitable. Lois hated every other second of it because on those alternate seconds, she was either throwing up or sleeping. She couldn't figure out the trigger which frustrated her even more because she couldn't predict when she'd throw up next.

Hovering within her personal space, Clark asked, "Are you sure you don't want to take a cab? It's only a few blocks."

"Exactly. I can walk a few blocks from Queen Tower to the Daily Planet, Clark." Lois lugged her briefcase over her shoulder. Clark tried to take it. Lois yanked it back. "Smallville!"

"Lois! The baby--"

"Is going to be fine. I ate breakfast. I'm wearing heavy-tread snow boots. I will walk very slowly. Let go my bag or I will hurt you."

Conner chose that moment to run in for his own breakfast. "Hey Aunt Lo. Isn't that bag too big for you to hold with the baby and all?"

"Argh!" Lois gripped her briefcase with both hands and wrenched it from Clark. "I want to go to work. At least Perry still shouts at me."

"That's 'cause he doesn't know you're preggers."

"We're just worried," said Clark as they stepped outside. "We don't want you to be any more stressed than you already are with the move and the tests."

"I know you are but you know what causes me a lot more stress? Not working. I _hate_ sitting around on my ass, you know that. So even if it means I have to keep digging this goddamned Wonder Woman-Superboy piece, I'll do it. Rain, show or shine. Oooh, Clark, can you get the venti dark roast with a shot of hazelnut and mint?" she asked as they entered their usual café.

""I can't believe Perry's still set on that story. It's been months. I can get whipped cream on my coffee you can lick off," he said, sympathetic to her plight.

"See, and then you say things like that and all thoughts of divorce leave my head." To the server, she said, "I'll have the extra large mango-pineapple smoothie with the energy and cardio mix, fill up this bottle with the iciest water you can make and if that's carrot-bran muffins you're taking out of the oven, score me one but if not, I'll have a four-grain bagel with herbed cream cheese and a slice of tomato. Thanks. Perry's stubborn as a mule when he gets his ideas."

"It probably didn't help that the last story we did with Cat is still in the top five highest-selling issues."

"Stupid Justice League charity date auction."

The overwhelmed server received Clark's order next. "Venti dark roast with a shot of hazelnut and mint, and a raspberry-filled doughnut, please. Oh, and whipped cream on the coffee."

Lois pouted. Clark leaned down to kiss her lower lip. "At least I'm supposed to eat for two now albeit non-sugary, non-greasy, somewhat bland food. One more kiss, then we're in work mode."

Upon arriving at the Planet, Lois discovered Satpal and Ron had come down with a Norwalk-like virus which was problematic. In three hours, Satpal was scheduled to interview Diana Hippolytidis, AKA Her Serenity, Princess Diana of ThemysciraAKA Wonder Woman Damn Her Perky Ass. Anna couldn't cover; she was neck deep hunting down a fraud cover-up. Clark was available but he had to hand in three features by the end of the day. Technically, he could have them all finished before the first coffee pot ran out but he had to pretend to be working. Even if he didn't, he wouldn't go. Clark had hang ups about writing about himself. So it was up to Lois to do the interview.

Joy.

She took a cab to the Hyatt Regency due to time constraints. Diana rose when Lois entered the small, private sitting room. Her hand shake was firm, dry and no longer than necessary to convey her attitude. Everything a handshake should be.

"I am sorry Ms. Dhillon is ill, Ms. Lane," said Diana as she gestured to two plump couches. "I hope it did not disturb her holidays."

"Satpal's disgustingly organised," Lois said. "She probably finished New Year's Eve celebrations a couple days after Christmas. You and holidays?"

"Restful, relatively speaking. Maybe I pour your coffee? I remember from our last interview you prefer it black, strong and capable of throwing Canary out the window."

Lois winced. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"It is not every day someone accuses me of, what was your wording? Oh yes, using my considerable _ass_ets as a weapon in a world already saturated with questionable definitions of female empowerment."

"You gotta admit, leotards aren't exactly combatwear."

"I have a strong warrior's body and take pride in it. It's no fault of mine if the Patriarch's world chooses to translate that and the sexuality stemming from that somehow weak or immoral."

"I'll give you points for not being a ninety-pound waif model," said Lois.

Diana nodded. "So, Ms Lane, you want to know more about my life before I became a member of the Justice League."

"Yes." She made a show of going through her notes as she reassessed her strategy for the interview. In the end, she decided her usual candour would best suit the situation. "Off the record, Ms. Themyscira? My editor says the people want a feature on the women who may be Superboy's mom."

Diana's shoulders straightened. "I was not given that impression when I spoke with Ms. Dhillon," she said tightly.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. Even if the numbers say that, I think it's a load of bullshit."

"Then why do you write it?"

"Partially because my boss says so. But mostly because I know I can put my own twist on the story that he'll like even better. Still off the record, I think you guys deserve a private life for all the things you do for us and unless you're raping people, shooting 'em up with crack or breaking any other law you're supposed to uphold, I don't have the right to know. After all, you don't ask the person you save which way they vote."

A smile, still stiff, worked its way onto Diana's face. "That is very diplomatic of you."

"Yeah, the devil's putting on ice skates. So, back on the record, where were you seventeen years ago?" Lois clicked her recorder on.

"As I have said in previous interviews, I was on the island of Themyscira. I came to Man's World twelve years ago, long after the young man known as Superboy was born."

"And you say no man has ever been in Themyscira?"

"That is correct."

"What about women?"

"No outsider women either."

"And for thousands of years, it's just been the same population of women."

Her regal stillness broke and she leaned towards the stable. "I have not poured you coffee."

Lois' hands twitched but she shook her head. "No, thanks. Not today."

"Tea then? Soda or juice? Or perhaps water?"

"I'm good. I'd just like to hear answer to my question."

With a grace that shouldn't have been possible for a woman of her size and musculature, she poured herself tea and mixed it with honey and milk. Then she took a delicate sip and sat back. "My aunts told me a story. After the Heracles and his men savaged the women, some found themselves pregnant. Such was their suffering that many of the women found the idea of bearing their rapist's child unbearable for how could a child born of such horrors be anything but a reminder of its conception? However, still others longed to follow Artemis and Hestia's pronouncement, to remain ever teachers and do no harm. They looked to my mother for advice."

Lois placed her hand over her belly. "What did she say?"

"She told them the harm had been done to their persons and to seek council individually with the goddesses. Whatever decision they made must be accepted by all Amazons. And so I have a few cousins my age though far fewer than one would predict."

"Were any of the children boys?"

Diana's gaze flattened. "None that I know of."

Leaning back, Lois murmured, "What are the odds of that?"

"Are you asking a question or merely commenting?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you want, Princess."

"I believe whatever decision my aunts made continues to haunt them after thousands of years, those who see their attackers in their daughters' face and those who will never have such knowledge." Diana took a sip of tea. She kept her eyes on the light, milky liquid in the cup. "My mother so wanted a child she bled into formed clay to have the gods breathe life into me. Yet, I believe with all my heart she'd rather destroy me than see me with a man. She raised me to believe all men were savages. So, as a long answer to your initial question, Ms. Lane, no, Superboy is not my son. At that time, any sort of man's touch was revolting to me."

"Seven years ago when your mother commanded you to make an alliance with Man's World, you offered to marry Superman and have his child," said Lois. "Why?"

"Partially for political reasons." She took another sip of tea. "No matter which man I married, I would also be tied to his nation. I could not ally Themyscira to any one country, nor myself as a member of the Justice League. Superman, on the other hand, belongs to the world. I would have allied myself to no country and, furthermore, to a man my mother could not help but see as worthy of a god-made Amazon."

Lois forced herself to unclench her hands before she snapped her pen in half. "Heading off the in-law problem. That's smart." Then, because she was a masochistic bitch, she also asked, "What about everything you just said about man's touch being revolting?"

Diana tilted her head back and laughed. "Do you mean would I have found Kal-el revolting? Heavens no! Kal couldn't be revolting if he tried. He's too gentle and kind to have any sort of negative energy within him. He is the reason I thought I would be capable of having a husband instead of a wife."

Lois' pen snapped. Diana jumped up.

"By Hera, your shirt! Here is a napkin--"

"I'm fine. It happens all the time. Cheap pens." Diana gave her a napkin anyway. Lois rubbed the stains away, wishing she could smear it all over the princess' wrinkle-free immortal face. "You were saying about the possibility of marrying Superman?"

"Merely that he is the only man I could imagine marrying. To use current terms, I am a lesbian, Ms. Lane. I like women and while I have made no effort to advertise that fact, I do not deny it either." She flashed a secretive smile. "However, Superman could make me change my mind."

Oh, he could, could he? "Swell," Lois gritted out.

"When I first came to Man's World, he was the only one to show me true honour when most only gave patronising kindness or sceptical disdain. I felt he truly wished me well in all that I pursued. There is something in his eyes." She tilted her head to one side, an unexpectedly girlish gesture. "Do you understand the way I mean?"

"Yeah," said Lois. "He makes it really hard to hate him."

"And very easy to love." Diana shrugged. "It is a moot point in any case. He would not have me if my affections were not fully engaged. I have also been assured that his affections have lain elsewhere for quite some time now. If you find that woman, you will find Kon-el's mother. I am told you are determined enough to dig that far."

"If you could, would you want to meet his... significant other?"

"Certainly. I would be honoured to meet the woman for whom Kal-el wants to be strong." Her smiled turned wistful. "She must be truly amazing."

Lois decided to fold the napkin instead of grinding it into Diana's aquiline nose. "Why do you think he's so secretive about her? And about Superboy, too. No one knew he existed until two years ago and he hasn't even publicly acknowledged him as his son."

Diana curled her fingers under her chin, thoughtful. "He has many enemies who would doubtless use his family to weaken him. More than that, I think he wants something private, someone of his own. He gives so much to the world, you see. But of course you see; you and Mr. Kent are very close to him."

"Hey, we didn't know about Superboy either."

"I have only served with the boy on one mission but will not forget it. A government body contacted us to deal with a growing rebel forces hidden in the forests who apparently took a van with disaster relief supplies. However, when we took our own reconnaissance, we discovered government agents also skimming from the supplies, leaving very little to those in need. Kon-el was so incensed, he ran the supplies from the Red Cross directly to the villages all over the country even though we agreed to take shifts. Afterward, he left the delivery vans stacked one on top of the other in front of the president's residence." She shook her head. "He is a good child, brash but full of heart. With training, he will be as great as his father.

Lois remembered that mission. It had happened not long after Conner moved in with them. Like herself, Conner needed to vent his emotions but on that day even an hour of ranting failed to ease his mind. Clark had to take him to the Arctic reconstituting ice-floes to expend his frustrated energy.

"Do you think Superman should have told the Justice League about his family?" she asked.

"Of course not," said Diana. "I have revealed Themyscira's location to the few people I trust to keep their sworn oaths. Likewise, Kal-el keeps his family safe and secret from those who may harm them even unintentionally. I cannot begrudge him his secrets when I fiercely protect my own. Here's a comparison for your readers, Ms. Lane-- Navy SEALS cannot be referred to by name while they are in service. The work they do is far too dangerous to allow it. How are they any different from the Justice League?"

"I guess they aren't," said Lois. She sat back. Despite her preconceptions, Diana was making a lot of sense. The woman was gorgeous _and_ ethical? Dammit, the world was unfair.

"The good news is he's officially over the training hump," said Ollie. "The bad news is I think he and everyone else are on a training plateau."

He stood to Clark's right in the observation deck of The Kitchen. Below, J'Onn and Arsenal pressed a two-prong attack against Conner. The location was a junkyard. Arsenal proved true to his name; he threw everything and a kitchen sink at Conner with uncanny precision. While Conner dodged the projectiles, J'Onn floated to one side, attacking telepathically. Only Conner's clenched teeth showed under this hood and shades.

Clark forced the air in and out of his lungs at a soft, easy pace. Watching him train was never easy. That was why he only participated in Conner's exercises and not actual scenarios; he couldn't help but pull his punches. "He's been on the defensive since Minute-07."

"Give him a second," Ollie said. "He's a wussy on the offense. Reminds me of you."

Glaring, Clark asked, "Why am I still your friend?"

"I hook you up and pimp out your crib."

"Wow, that sentence just aged you more than your facial hair."

Ollie's eyes narrowed. "The more people mock my goatee, the more I love it. Hey, there he goes!"

Clark returned his attention to The Kitchen scenario. Fighting to keep his E-field up in the face of J'Onns's telepathic attack meant Conner was more vulnerable. He wasn't bleeding but he limped from the aforementioned kitchen sink and his uniform was torn in several places. Normally, the E-field would have protected the suit against damage. Conner threw two cars at J'Onn: one directly at the martian and the other, a split second later, where he guessed J'Onn would go. He missed by a hair but his attention was already on Arsenal. Keeping the older man in his sights, Conner ducked behind a mountain of junk.

"It's all over now," Clark said, trying to keep the pride from his voice.

"I told them to keep him isolated," Ollie muttered. "Lian's going to kill me for bringing her daddy home injured again."

"She's only nine."

"Wait until you have a daughter. They have this look." Ollie shuddered. "There's no fighting it."

Conner pressed his hands against the twenty-foot pile of junk. Metal rattled. Wood creaked. Plastic snapped. Small items-- screws, handles, shards-- floated off the junk pile. Then larger pieces-- phones, table legs, trophies-- followed the suit, pushing the smaller items into a wider orbit. Arsenal started running. A computer tower flew past his hip. A lampshade threatened to trip him. Conner's junkpile now hovered before him, slowly spinning. He stretched his arms forward. The whole lot trembled and for a second, it looked like it might drop. Conner wrinkled his forehead in concentration. Three-quarters of a drawer chased Arsenal down. A dozen picture frames aimed for his hamstrings. Half a credenza lumbered behind them.

J'Onn appeared behind Conner and jabbed him in near the kidneys. Conner dropped, groaning. Junk crashed all around them. J'Onn had done this often enough to go intangible before anything hit him. Without Conner's control, his E-field snapped back tightly around his body. He was unharmed.

Clark released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"That's pretty much where we have to stop," Ollie said. "He can use the E-field offensively on anything he touches."

"Like a type of tactile telekinesis," said Clark.

"That's catchy. I like it. But when he does that, he's left vulnerable. It's like using a bullet-proof vest to whack someone on the head. I don't know how to push him any further."

"Maybe we're wrong to train him into using the E-field as a weapon. What if we pull back and work on strengthening its hold around his body? That's what it's there for."

"We don't have much of a choice." Ollie pressed the speakers on. "New scenario people. Superboy, if anything less than a rocketship gets past your E-field, I'm not going to be happy." He then leaned back on his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "Fatherhood suits you, Kal-el. You have a... pregnant glow."

Clark threw him a side-long glare. "Keep them coming, Queen, and one day you'll find yourself mysteriously without back-up in the middle of the Kalahari."

But Ollie's grin held. "You gotta admit, you've loosened up a lot since Christmas. If Kon-el had done that photo-op last year, you would've flipped your top off."

Slowly, Clark turned his head. "Photo-op?"

"The one for Time Magazine. Please let me you know about that."

"Remind me."

"They wanted to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Justice League by doing a spread on the youngest members. Everyone except Robin went to New Zealand for the shoot and the interviews. Remember? It was around New Years' Eve."

"Kon told me he was going to a YJ party."

Ollie shrugged. "He kind of did. It was a catered shoot."

Clark spun on his heel and left the room, his cape snapping behind him. Ollie scrambled off the chair to chase him down.

"Come on, Kal, they were together as a team. It was practically a mission! I told them they could go."

"There are League rules and there are family rules, Green Arrow, and one of the family rules is to minimize photography," said Clark. Anger softened his voice. "It's bad enough anyone with a half-decent phone can snap a picture and post it online. We don't need close-ups and-- It's summer in New Zealand. Were they wearing their full uniforms?"

"As far as I know."

"If anyone saw Kon's tattoos--"

"You're over-reacting!"

"I'm _not_!" Clark stopped abruptly and whirled around again. Red flashed in his eyes. Ollie reared back. "My reasons for keeping my family invisible from the public eye are valid. You of all people should understand that. To Time Magazine of all places? It's already half advertisement. We toe such a thin line between heroes and monsters; if anyone thinks this--" he pointed to the crest on his chest-- "is supposed to mean anything except unaffiliated aid--"

Ollie held his hands up. "I get it. Trust me, I do. But I personally cleared the journalist and the photographer. Superboy is Robin's second-in-command anyway so he had the group under control."

That took Clark by surprise. "He's second? He didn't tell me." And with that, his anger faded away, deflating his stance.

"It's a teenager thing," said Ollie, patting his back. "One day, you'll make sense to each other again. Until then, I recommend a stiff Caesar, heavy on the tabasco. Just remember I was the one who had to calm Diana down when she found out Wondergirl didn't get the team leader position."

"But Wondergirl's due to enter the League in a few months. It wouldn't have made sense."

"Yeah, that. But in Diana's head, the oversight was clearly a sign of patriarchal bias, Man's Military makes no sense, let them fight for the position instead of voting, et cetera. I swear to God, I'm going to retire. Then this can all be your headache."

"You say that every year."

"But this time I mean it."

Ollie didn't mean it. The League was his wife, child and vocation. Nothing short of death would take him away. A shiver went down Clark's back at the thought and he hurried to touch the wooden armrest on a nearby chair. He wasn't ruled by superstition but in this line of work, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Pre-Metropolis, Conner would have sworn he was strictly a tea and soda guy. Continued exposure at home converted him into a coffee-swilling Yank. While he waited for dinner, he liked to hang out and pretend to do homework at a café a block away from Queen Tower. During rush hour, musicians played on an intimate stage across from the baristas. The setlist varied from rappers and DJs to singer-songwriters and heavy metal tribute bands. All sorts of people wandered in. Conner liked watching all sorts of people.

The baristas already knew he liked triple shot espresso slushies with whipped cream. One of the managers liked to surprise him with flavour shots of the day.

"Did you actually just give me a shot of lemon?" Conner asked.

"Uh-huh. Whatcha think?"

Conner pushed the cup back across the counter. Deliberately, he turned it around so she would have to sip where his lips had touched the rim. "Why don't you give it a try?"

She took a sip and put it down, licking the foam from her upper lip. Conner grinned.

"Can you just pay for your damn coffee and wait for her break?" groused the customer behind him.

Conner winked and put his money down. The place was packed today for three in the afternoon; maybe someone half decent was on the docket. Single-occupant tables dotted the floor; he perused them like a dinner menu, finally settling on one close to the stage.

"Hi."

The guy looked up and damn if he didn't give Conner a one over. "Hello."

"Do you mind if I sit here? The place is a little packed."

"No, go ahead. It's free."

"Thanks." He pulled at his shirt, smoothing away pretend wrinkles in such a way that showed off his muscles before taking the seat. Hey, the guy was damn fit in a tailored button-up with a crew-cut curls showing off half a dozen piercings and another gold ring through his eyebrow. Besides, he needed the ego boost. "I'm Conner."

"Gary." They shook hands. Conner lingered a second too long. Gary's surprise melted into pleasant amusement.

"So, Gary, are you really that absorbed with--" he peeked at the laptop screen, "-- the linguistic patterns of Middle English or are you trying to avoid conversations with pushy strangers like myself?"

"It's an absorbing topic," said Gary. "But the occasional stranger ends up surprising you."

"You don't say." Conner slowly wiped coffee off his bottom lip with his thumb. Gary's eyes followed then flickered up to someone behind Conner's right shoulder. A small hand squeezed his shoulder.

When he turned his head, Tana was there. Gorgeous, sweet, not-angry Tana. "Hey. Can we talk?"

Shit on a stick. Conner turned back to Gary, going through believable excuses, but he already wore a knowing look. "I'll be right back," Conner said. Without waiting for a response, he took his coffee in one hand, hooked Tana's arm through his opposite arm and left the café. His parents were due home in an hour; that should be plenty of time to talk at home.

"I'm really sorry," Conner said in a rush as they wound through the thinning after-school crowd. "I was in a really bad place and I just kind of lashed out and you got caught in the crossfire. I had no right to--"

She laid her hand on his arm, smiling tremulously up at him. "I know, Conner. And I'm sorry, too. I've spent all these months letting other people convince me that you're bad news."

"They were pretty convincing someones to keep you away for the whole semester."

"That's just it. They weren't. They said there must have been signs before hand of how unstable you were, I just didn't read them that way. But the thing is, there's nothing really. Except--" She stopped at the door, biting her lip. "You moved?"

"Yeah."

"To Queen Tower? That's... didn't they do an episode of StarStyle here?"

Conner shrugged, ushering her into the lobby. "Dad and Aunt Lo got lucky. You were saying about my history of non-violence?"

"I wanted to tell them you were anything but violent. I mean, they even talked about your tattoos like they're gang-related or something."

She wanted him to deny it. He could tell. "It's just ink."

"I know, I know. But then they started asking me about unexplainable disappearances and other weirdness and I realised you're never available on weekends. Literally unavailable; you never answer your phone and when I call your house, you're always supposedly out. I'm not trying to pry--"

"Yes, you are," said Conner. "Who's 'they' anyway? What do 'they' care where I go on the weekends?"

"I care where you go on the weekends, too!" said Tana. "I want to spend all day with you."

"Well... I can't. I work weekends."

Tana stared at him. He had no idea how to translate the wrinkle in her brow, the slight narrowing of her eyes and her half-open mouth. "You work on the weekends," she repeated.

"Yeah."

"And this had to be a secret because?" Tana waved his excuse away. "You know what? I don't even care. If you feel like you have to be all mysterious, fine. Whatever. I can live with that as long as I know you've decided."

A lump pulsed in Conner's throat. "Decided?"

"On whether or not we're us," she said.

"You... we're still an us? It's been all semester. I thought you totally moved on. Alan Davidson was--"

"Alan Davidson is my journalism partner." Her hand lingered on his forearm, sliding up his jacket to his shoulders. "I know it's been forever since we last talked but I love you, okay? I wouldn't've gone so far with you if I didn't. Whatever trouble you're going through, I want to help."

Conner took her in his arms. He'd almost forgotten how well she fit there, the top of her head under his chin, her arms encircling his waist. "I... Tana, you're awesome. You're like... God, I do... feel... a lot of feelings for you, you know that, right? _A lot_. When I hurt you, I wanted to tear my own head off."

She smiled up at him. "I know. You're lucky I hate listening to my parents, _hoku._. So, how long do we got until your folks get home?"

"I can't, baby. I wish I could but..." He took a deep breath in preparation for his half-truths. "My parents really need me right now and with work and everything, it's not like I'm going to have any free time. It's not fair to you."

Tana stepped away. "Oh. I see." She looked everything but directly at him. "Okay, I see, I just... I'll just go. See you in math tomorrow."

She left with her head held up high, her long black hair brushing the small of her back. He loved her hair. Tana passed Lois and Clark as she ran for the elevator. Great, so on top of making Tana cry, he was going to get in shit for breaking the no-socialising rule.

"I know I'm grounded. I'll just go and punish myself some more, okay?" Conner turned on his heel to stalk into the condo.

Clark began to speak. "Conner, it's not a--" but Lois pushed him away.

"Let's talk, kiddo."

"Aunt Lo, I really have a crap load of stuff to do."

"Pfft! Since when have you been jumping to do homework?" She tugged his arm. "Let's go out to talk. Clark, don't listen in."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "When have I ever?"

The penthouse opened to a large balcony but that wasn't Lois' destination. She pulled Conner around and behind the west wall where a circular staircase led to a sparsely decorated roof. In the summer, bamboo from the level below could shade a large reed mat currently in storage. From that point, they stared out into Metropolis' sea of neon and lit windows.

"Talk to me, kiddo. You've been a ball of angst for months now."

Conner shrugged. He really didn't feel like rehashing. The day went on bad enough without an instant replay.

"You dad says you're mostly on monitor duty right now." Lois continued.

Oh yeah. That. Conner rolled his eyes. Ollie's suspension still held. He took progress reports from J'Onn but since J'Onn couldn't do jack with the stupid E-field besides teaching his relaxation methods, he _still_ wasn't at the right level of competency with the new power. His friends were out there risking their lives and all he could do was watch them from monitor screens. This felt like a good time to chant his mantra: suck, suck, suck, suck...

Lois turned to face him. "What do you want life to look like, Conner?"

He gaped. "What?"

"Everyone has dreams of the future. Mine was simple and vague: I wanted out of my dad's house. It wasn't until Chloe pushed me into investigative journalism that I found my niche. Or, more accurately, a productive channel for my innate nosiness. She was pretty good at figuring people out, wasn't she?"

Shrugging, Conner said, "I guess."

"I guess," Lois repeated. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Conner, you have to help us out here. The first year was rough for everyone, you especially but I'd hoped we'd gotten over that bump. Hell, you and Clark cut down your snarking by half. I thought we were making progress but ever since you got suspended from work, you've been... it's like the first month all over again!"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm dangerous," Conner said with a sneer. "I screw up all the time and every time it happens, the screw-up gets bigger and bigger. They shouldn't've called me Sup-- that codename. I'm _not_ Clark!"

"Kiddo, we don't expect you to be." She let out a breath. "So, what's going on here? Do you want to quit YJ?"

Conner's chest squeezed tight. They were going to take away even this from him. He'd messed up that badly. His eyes burned. His sinuses itched. "I don't know. Whatever, I guess."

"'Whatever, I guess.' I should've kept up with my teen-speak. You know what they say: if you don't use it, you lose it." Lois grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to face her. Then she rubbed his arms like he'd seen other people do to warm up. "Can I tell you why I, for one, would love to see you quit work?"

He shrugged. He'd always suspected she didn't think he'd fit into YJ either. If anyone could tell a Superman-Lite from the real thing, it would be her.

"The same hour I found out you were Chloe's kid, I promised her two things: One, I'd make sure you're happy. Two, I'd keep you safe even at the price of your happiness. I freak out every weekend when you go away because I can't protect you. Hell, I send you into war zones with lunch money and a thermos of coffee because it seemed to make you happy and I have friends at your work that look out for you. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you want to quit, if YJ feels like we're pushing you to be in Clark's shoes, just say the word and you'll never have to go."

"No!" blasted out of Conner. "Aunt Lo, you can't-- it's everything I got!"

She cocked her head to one side, eyebrows arched, arms crossed. "I knew it! You're good at school but you don't actually like any of the subjects. You don't care whether or not you're on the football team which, lemme tell you, is more than enough to get most kids beat to death around here. You don't play any instruments, you don't put together computers, you don't walk dogs-- the only time I ever see you animated is when you work. Oh and if your tongue is down someone's throat."

"Aunt Lo!"

"What! It's true. So you're miserable 'cause you're not working. Geez, kiddo, couldn't you just have said so?"

"I was!"

"Teenagers and adults, two generations separated by language."

Once unbottled, the words poured out of Conner's mouth. "All I ever see when I grow up is YJ. It's, like, everything, Aunt Lo. When I'm in my colours, I don't feel like a huge fake. I feel like I'm really me and I'm really doing what I should be doing so I can make up for--"

Lois caught on quickly. "Kiddo, you're not... you're not doing this because of your mom's death, are you?"

He kicked at the snow.

"You little idiot." She hauled him into an embrace. "How many times do we have to say it before you actually believe? Chloe didn't die because you weren't combat-trained; she died because Luthor is an amoral bastard who deserves to be in a vegetative state with deep, oozing, pus-filled bedsores and a non-functioning penis."

"But I could have helped."

"Even if you _were_ trained, you weren't full-grown yet. You still aren't." Lois cupped his face. "You wouldn't've been able to hear her from your school on one side of the Greater London area when she was attacked on the other. Even if you had, back then, you couldn't run fast enough to rescue her."

"But now I can," said Conner. "I can keep other kids from having to-- it's cool and all with the surfrider and the world travel but really I-- Aunt Lo, I'm supposed to be doing this. Mom's a part of it, yeah, but it's totally more than that. Did you ever feel like that about reporting? Like you can't wait to jump out of bed to go to work and every hour there is like a second and you can't imagine doing anything ever for the rest of your life?"

Lois' expression softened. "Every day."

"This stupid E-field screw-up's messing with it! With everything!" He kicked harder at the snow. "It's domino effect of screw-up. Tana wanted to get together again."

His aunt nodded, her lips pressed together, uncharacteristically silent.

"But I knew I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because! There's work and family and school and I can't have everything I want!" Conner's eyes widened. His jaw dropped. "Holy. Did I just grow up?"

Patting his back, Lois said, "I'm afraid so, kiddo."

January's snow became February's slush, perfect for staying indoors to decorate the baby's room. When Ollie offered to pay for an interior decorator, Clark asked him to leave the nursery bare. He wanted to build it. After all, Lois was doing all the work carrying the baby; assembling furniture was the least he could do. He didn't expect Conner to enthusiastically volunteer his help but the gesture warmed him.

"You're not just avoiding English Lit homework, are you?" Clark teased.

Conner clapped his hands over his head. "I'm hurt! Here I am, being the best damn big brother ever and you accuse me of using my unborn sibling for devious purposes. I _want_ to help. Avoiding Lit is just an added bonus."

Clapping a bucket of paint and a brush in his hand, Clark pointed to the wall opposite the door. "Paint that between the tapes to make stripes. Keep as much of your E-field on your right for the first stripe then transfer it to the left for the second stripe and keep alternating until you're done."

With a groan, Conner said, "I should've known you'd turn this into a practice somehow."

"You're getting much better," said Clark. "You haven't had a breakout for months even when we're distracting you. By fine-tuning your ability to shift the field, you can ensure those breakouts never happen. Who knows, it may be tied to your ability to fly."

"Yeah, still waiting for that to kick in."

"I didn't until I was in college."

"Aunt Lo said you had daddy issues. And also you were afraid of heights."

"Aunt Lo has a big mouth. Rest assured, she'll pay for her betrayal." A cough sounded from the doorway. Turning, Clark beamed at his beautiful partner. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Good afternoon more like," Conner said. "I thought we all agreed I'm the lazybones who likes to sleep until after lunch."

"Blame the Peanut," said Lois, rubbing her belly. "I didn't keep you awake with my hurling, did I, kiddo?"

"It's cool. I just wear my player to bed and concentrate on the music." Conner loped over to where Lois stood then kneeled so he faced her belly. "Hi, Peanut. You should really develop a taste for pizza 'cause Dad and I have to eat it in secret now."

"Even smelling it from a distance makes me nauseated," Lois groused. "I know this is your kid, Smallville, 'cause I can't keep any junkfood down. It's all leeks, spinach, eggplants and squash. My blood is probably only two percent junk now."

Clark pulled her into an embrace. "Do you want to go to Mom's this weekend? She can make her spinach soup."

"I want Twinkies," said Lois. "But I'll settle for your mom's zucchini pie. Ugh, really, Smallville. Zucchini pie? Do you realise what your spawn has done to me? I'm a wheatgrass swilling, tofu-eating, yoga-joining health nut!" But she caressed his jaw as she spoke. "What does his heart sound like?"

Clark zoned into her body. Lois' own heartbeat thundered like a bass drum, blood rushing from the arteries in smooth waves. Air moaned through her lungs. Her intestines creaked slightly, slowing with the scant bit of material left inside after a night of vomiting. There, still hidden by mesentery and fluid, was her womb and inside it, the baby's heart tapping furiously away.

"It's strong," he said, his voice soft. He combed his hands through her hair.

Beside him, Conner grinned. "You're doing everything right, Aunt Lo. This baby's probably going to come out already flying and ready to bench press the doctor. I think we should go for Drustan or Thora."

"We are _not_ naming your brother or sister after your favourite video game."

"But they're awesome characters! Every other person in my class is named Jacob and the ones left over are named Maria."

"I can't believe you're both so resistant to Lara and Jonathan," said Clark.

His wife and his son shared long-suffering looks. "Second names," they said simultaneously before dissolving into chuckles.

"I'm pretty set on Gabriel," Lois said. "Gabriel Jacob Lane-Kent has a nice ring to it."

"Gabriel Jonathan," Clark corrected. "What? You said we could use it as a second name and it's only fair since his first name is after Chloe's dad."

"Gabriel Drustan Lane-Kent," said Conner, just to be difficult. "Gabrielle Thora for a girl."

"Gabrielle Lara," Clark said. "Fairness, remember?"

Resolutely, Lois shook her head. "It's Gabrielle Anne or we skip middle names altogether."

Conner wrinkled his nose. "Poor Peanut. Imagine having a name dating to the Dustbowl."

"Junior, I wouldn't talk considering you're named after an 80's B-film about hairy Scotsmen whacking each others' heads off."

"What are you talking about?"

"Chloe's first crush. She was all of nine years old and we were watching the late, late, late night movie on the SF Channel." Lois grinned toothily. "She always said she'd name her first kid after Conner Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

As the two of them continued to verbally spar, Clark cocked his head to one side. Unlike him, Conner revelled around people, a natural extrovert like Lois. They were so alike sometimes he forgot how recently his son came into their lives. Conner's lightened demeanour relieved him; he'd been worried since the boy started isolating himself from his schoolmates. Maybe he should be easier on him about his Young Justice friends. After all, those kids knew the dangers inherent in their work plus they had more training around keeping secret identities. Conner relaxed around people. He thrived in groups. Yet another example of how different they were.

Lois snapped her fingers in front of his nose. "What are you staring at?" she asked.

"My sunshines," Clark said. He kissed her cheek and rubbed Conner's spiky hair before his son could escape.

* * *

_Diana Hippolytidis is played by Morena Baccarin. Diana is the former Ambassador of Themyscira and current Justice League Liaison to the UN. Tana Moon is played by Kris Bernal._


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Bureaucracy and international politics being what it was, March's thunderstorms cracked over Metropolis before the Justice League received custody of Big Barda. Within minutes of donning her armour, Barda demanded a flight to Krysybestan. The Justice League obliged. They were just as eager to solve the mystery of the sinkholes. As official liaison to the League, Lois was one of the few reporters allowed into the site.

On this mission, Clark, Conner and Diana-- Superman, Superboy and Wonder Woman-- were joined by Green Lantern, Black Lightning, Grace and Black Canary along with Conner's teammates, Beastboy and Secret. Robin wasn't available. Batman's official excuse was that the mission was inappropriate for his team since they had no meta powers. A team of paramedics waited beside an ambulance ready for a worst case scenario.

"I'm just saying if I was her, I'd be plenty pissed by now. She's been imprisoned for half a year just because she woke up thinking we were attacking her," Conner said as they prepped. He secured his minicam on his shoulder.

"Despite her warrior's enthusiasm, Barda seems to know patience," said Diana. "A skill I assume you are working on?"

Clark couldn't stop his grin at Conner's red face. His son still lost all coherence when faced with Wonder Woman. He suspected Dina found his reactions more cute than annoying and, in an attempt to familiarize him to her presence, sought him out for small talk. It was a pretty hopeless venture. Alien heritage aside, Conner was a sixteen year old boy through and through.

Lantern herded the small press contingent to one side as the rest of the League went into position. "If anything happens, stay close to me. I can shield you until you reach safe cover."

"Are you expecting something to happen?" Lois asked.

"Those pods have been quiet for nine months, Ms. Lane, but as always we prefer to be prepared. You're permitted within six metres of the sinkholes. You'll also receive visual feed from the mini-cams worn by Superboy and Big Barda and audio feed from our commelinks. Superman, Superboy, Big Barda and Secret will descend the pit; the remaining League members will be on stand-by. If Barda okays it, they will attempt to open the pod. If not, we will leave sensors on the pod and bury it."

"How do you know you can trust Big Barda?" asked a reporter with a Spanish accent.

"Her actions throughout her incarceration as well as numerous interviews with League members and independent consultants indicate she is harmless."

A hundred metres away, Barda whirled a sceptre-like weapon over her head before smashing it on the edge of one pit. A concussive blast rumbled the earth under their feet; the roar rang their ears half a second later. Superboy coughed.

"Well, relatively harmless."

At his go, Conner's deploy team jumped into the sink hole. Conner whooped as he free-falled, pulling his arms and legs straight, streamlined for speed. Barda did the same. Clark shot past them, winking at Conner as he whipped by. He would catch them and slow their descent in time. He saw well enough this deep down but Clark lit a maglight for the minicams.

The pod's ragged shell resembled roughly hewn rock except for its matte blue colouring. The seam on this one lay face down into the rock face but the position revealed a carved rectangle. Barda wrote something on the rectangle with her fingernail. It glowed yellow. Sentences of a sort projected from the yellow glow, the symbols resembling made up of wedges and circles.

Hissing, Barda yanked her hand away. The yellow rectangle faded.

"What's wrong?" asked Clark.

"This pod contains the Ultimate," she said. She made gesture unknown to Earth but Clark had a pretty good idea what it meant especially after she spat on the pod. "If you are able, destroy this and the creature within it."

"What is it?"

"The opposite of creation is destruction and the Ultimate is destruction personified. It is said the creature was created as to be the first and last weapon needed in war, a being constantly capable of changing its structure to any force it combats. But the creature worked too well and hated too much. It knows nothing but destruction and nothing of loyalty, fear or honour. Darkseid's great-grandfather used powers beyond imagination to trap him within this pod. Even then, it escaped. As a Fury, I have had to help contain it twice. Nearly half my troop died in the effort each time."

"We can't just kill it if it's helpless inside that pod," said Clark.

"Then your world is doomed," Barda said. "You and Green Lantern have the ability to fly through space; hurl the creature into a star."

Clark exchanged alarmed looks with Conner and Secret. "We'll talk it over but I think we'll probably take a page from your book and contain him."

Barda shrugged. "Be it on your head."

"I hope the other pod has better news," said Secret.

"The Ultimate's presence bodes ill for that hope, little one."

Conner sidled next to Clark. "I'm thinking she's perfect for Batman. Badass, bad tempered, occasionally froths at the mouth. What do you think? It might be true love."

Clark choked down his laughter. "Your commelink is still sending," he said, reaching out to rumple his son's hair. Conner dodged it.

The last sinkhole lay three and a half miles from Barda's and the Ultimate's. The reporters took a van to the location while the League members travelled by air. Some grumbled about the lack of action; the more experienced few were glad of it. Barda stared dourly out the window of the helicopter, her thumb rubbing the trigger of her mega-rod.

"Diana's reports on your place in the rebellion are fascinating," said Clark, trying to draw her out of her shell. "I understand you were raised to be a completely loyal warrior for Darkseid. Why did you change your mind?"

A minute passed by as Barda weighed his sincerity. "If you could meet Prince Free, you would understand. He is... peace."

"He was really peaceful, you mean."

"No. He simply was peace." Her eyes lowered. "I had never... he was... different."

She loved Prince Free, Clark realised. It was obvious in the tonelessness of her voice and the way she held her shoulders. He wanted to give her arm a squeeze, the way he would with any League member who had suffered a loss. He knew she wouldn't know how to react to the gesture. Instead, he patted her leg.

No one spoke as they descended the last sinkhole. Barda's melancholy affected them all. What would he do if he ever lost Lois? Clark wondered as he floated down. He doubted he'd be as collected as Barda. The possibility of losing her confronted him with every madman that attacked Metropolis, heck, every time Lois crossed the street. Having the baby made her more cautious but there was simply no way to escape danger. Plus, God only knew what a fully developed kryptonian baby would do to--

Barda's scream shook Clark out of his ruminations. She had fallen to her knees, pounding the pod with her fists. She yelled in her own language, too overcome to use English. This pod's rectangular pad still glowed.

"What did it say?" he asked Secret and Conner. The two kids shook their heads.

"Should we, uh, stop her?" Conner asked.

"I think she's gone..." Secret drew circles beside her head.

Clark kneeled beside her. "Barda, what is it? I can't help you if I don't understand."

She pointed her mega-rod at it. It whined as it charged up. Clark yanked the rod away and, in the same motion, forced her head up to face him. The eye contact broke her madness.

"Aseppa kogg! Nanisi aseppa lahyabre kogg!"

Clark's forehead wrinkled as he tried to translate. "Kogg, my. Nanisi, here. Aseppa... what the heck is aseppa?"

"Free!" Barda blurted out. She punched the pod again. "Here free mine."

Clark shook his head, still not understanding.

"Free mine! Prince free!"

"Prince Free!" Light dawned on all three Leaguers as once. "Are you sure?" Clark asked Barda. "Sighutaynuh ku?"

"Ogo."

"All right, Secret, go up and report." Clark immediately turned to Conner as Secret wisped away. "The prince's pod is more embedded than the other two. We'll have to drill around it and open it topside."

Conner saluted. "Roger, Supes. Need help hoisting it up?"

"I'll be fine. When we're done, jump out of this pit. I'll throw it out and you catch it, okay?"

"Totally."

He approached Barda. "I'll throw you up."

But she shook her head. "No. I stay here."

He didn't waste time arguing; she was implacable. From five feet above, Clark spun faster and faster, his arms vee'd over his head until he became a makeshift drill. He bore holes around the pod as Conner smashed the weakened rock plate into gravel. The pod shifted and loosened just enough for Clark to get a good hold on one edge.

Conner crouched, gathering strength for his jump. At the last minute his eyes widened. "Hey, I think I can feel the gravity field." Like a tightly coiled spring, he shot up the shaft of the sinkhole.

"I'm in place at your twelve," Clark heard him shout down a couple seconds later.

Seeing Clark brace himself, Barda flattened herself against the pod, securing her place by gripping the seam. He pressed the pod up in a perfect weightlifter's hold. It was heavier than it looked, nearing fifty tonnes. His trajectory would probably be a bit off but it was a big target, Conner could compensate. Taking a deep breath, he lobbed it straight up. Another breath and he flew after it.

"Crap, this is heavy." Conner grunted, staggered and righted himself. Diana rushed to his side to help steady it even as Barda slid off the pod.

"Barda! Wait! Don't--" The concussive beam off her mega-rod ricocheted off the pod, narrowly missing Black Lightning and Grace. She aimed it again. Diana wrenched it from her hands.

"Peace, sister. We will open the pod."

"Now!" Barda growled.

Conner whistled. "Don't say it," Clark told him.

"What?"

"You were about to comment and I'm here to make sure it doesn't actual leave your lips. Take the far lip of the seam and push on my three. One, two, three!"

Sweat popped out on Clark's forehead as the seam inched open. On his right, Conner cursed under his breath. He heard Diana alight on his other side. She braced her feet and hands and pushed. Barda climbed up beside Conner and did the same. Achingly white light flooded his eyes; Clark had to look away. Heat hissed out after it.

"I'm going to put something in to brace it," Green Lantern said. A glowing green block wedged itself near one side of the hinge. "Holy... that's _heavy_."

"No fricking kidding," Conner grunted. "Crap. Crappity crap... Superman, this is making my E-field screw up."

"Hold it steady," Clark said.

"I can't push and hold the field together at the same time!"

"Just-- actually, never mind. Let the E-field go."

"What?"

"What?" Diana and Green Lantern exclaimed at a much louder volume.

"That field is what gives us strength. If he can let it extend, he'll crack the pod open. You have good enough control to keep yourself shielded, right?" he asked Conner.

His son nodded. "It'll be skinny; I'll need to get away ASAP."

Clark wiped his forehead on his shoulder. "Do it. On my three, Superboy, loosen your hold. Everyone else, run for it."

"I was going to do that anyway," said Green Lantern.

"One, two, three!"

Green Lantern arced backwards to form a shield over the reporters while Diana pulled the more vulnerable Leaguers out of the way. Clark dove to one side, taking Barda with him then quickly spun around to keep an eye on Conner. He floated spread-eagled in the mouth of the pod, every muscle taut, pulled or pushed by the E-field. The two edges of the pod trembled but slowly widened further.

Then it exploded.

"Whooooaaaaa!" Conner's yelp faded as the concussive force pitched him into the upper troposphere. Clark rocketed after him. To his surprise, his son was laughing. "Do you think if I flap my arms hard enough, I'll fly?"

Clark crossed his arms. "I could just stay here and we'll find out."

Conner hung in mid-air for a second. "Nope, can't find the gravity. Hey, Dad, race you." And he plunged back down to earth head first.

Clark let him fall most of the way down, catching him under his arms twenty feet from the ground to slow his fall then releasing him again. Conner rolled expertly onto his feet. A melee had broken out in their absence. Taking no notice of the medical personnel, Barda had dragged Prince Free from his pod, shouting in her language and shaking him awake.

"He's shorter than I imagined," said Conner.

Diana and Beastboy tried to still Barda's flailing arms while Black Lightning aided the paramedics with the prince's intravenous tubes and bag valve mask. Her desperation made Clark's heart pang.

"Let her hold him," he said.

"But she was ripping his lines out," said Beastboy.

"She'll be more difficult if she's not with him. Just let her go."

They obeyed. Barda immediately scooped the prince up in her arms again, gentler this time, allowing the paramedics to measure his vitals and administer medication. Clark kept a running commentary of what they did; in her state, she might not be processing English but she could remember later on. And his voice seemed to calm her.

One paramedic guided her in positioning Prince Free onto his stomach to aid recovery. As they shifted his torso, he let out a chest-rattling cough. The other paramedics sprang into action, pulling out the artificial airway in his mouth and administering a bag valve mask. The prince coughed again, wetly this time. His abdomen spasmed. His eyes flew open and he vomited all over the dusty grass.

"Lahyabre." Barda cupped his cheek in the tenderest manner Clark had ever seen her make.

The prince blinked up. "Barda?" He grabbed her wrists. "Barda! Mahbubant ayes ku! Ayah, Barda!" He pulled himself up, still trembling from the drugs in his system. Barda met him halfway, wrapping her arms around, her face buried in his neck.

"Lahyabre. Aseppa kogg," she said over and over again while Prince Free tangled his fingers in her hair and whispered, "Immagohal kogg. Asheh, asheh, Barda kogg." They rocked in each other's arms.

"I have no what they're saying but I'm tearing up," said Black Lightning.

He wasn't the only one, Clark noted. More than half the hardened reporters had glassy eyes; one of them was Lois. Barda reminded him of Lois, he realised. His determination to help her had roots in her similarity to his partner-- her strength, her stubbornness and her willingness to do whatever it took to do what she thought was right. He hoped Barda and Free's happy ending portended their own.

Garlicky, herbs and lemons smells exploded into the room when Conner opened the oven. He threw a look over his shoulder; his dad winked at him and Aunt Lo sniffed the air deeply.

"That smells _awesome_, Junior," she said. "Crap, I drooled on myself."

"It's not totally done," said Conner. "Can you wait ten more minutes?"

"I'm sure it'll be worth it," Clark said. His son tried not to duck his head, pleased yet embarrassed.

In the background, a talking head on TV replayed a video clip of the Krysybestan mission. "Top news today: confirmation of Superboy's paternity. Since his appearance two years ago at Lexgate, the world has speculated on the relationship between Superman and his young counterpart, Superboy. The famously private Superman has thus far refused to comment directly but a recent Justice League mission in Central Asia has shed more light into the family of the Man of Steel."

Beside the news anchor, a screen depicted a cloud-streaked sky, an uninteresting subject save for the audio clip enhanced for the audience.

"Do you think if I flap my arms hard enough, I'll fly?" Superboy's voice came through although Superboy himself wasn't visible.

"I could just stay here and we'll find out," was Superman's reply.

"Nope, can't find the gravity. Hey, Dad, race you."

Beaming, the co-anchor said, "How exciting especially for the hero-fans out there! Once again, we have audio evidence of Superboy's paternity caught digitally during a mission in Krysybestan. The clip is available for download on our website. We're now turning to our panel of experts to discuss the implications of this discovery."

Clark grimaced and changed the channel. "The Pan-Asian economy is heading towards a recession and they're focussing on this?"

"I'm sorry," said Conner. "I totally forgot we were wearing commelinks. It was like playing on the farm, y'know? I should-- Dammit, I talk too much." His hung his head, all excitement about his cooking evaporated.

To his surprise, his dad shrugged minutely and said, "There's nothing we can do about it now. They're going to speculate no matter what and sooner or later, one of us would've slipped. Remind me to tell you about the early years."

For a second or four, Conner just stared, gape-mouthed. His dad being reasonable about the media? _His_ dad who was so private, he had two disguises? The same guy who didn't give out autographs even to terminally ill children in African refugee camps for fear it would fall into the hands of an especially clever hand-writing specialist who might have access to Clark Kent's high school notes?

"Conner, I think your chicken's done," said Lois. "Dibs on drumstick."

"That's why chickens have two legs," said Clark. Seeing Conner still-frozen, he asked, "Did you want me to take it out?"

"No, no, I'm good." As Conner set everything on the table, he warned them, "I'm not sure it'll taste right. I played around a bit with Grandma's recipe. There was this show on TV where they used cinnamon and parsley instead of the usual spice mix that Grandma makes and, like, I _like_ Grandma's roast chicken but this looked really good especially since Aunt Lo wanted the whole Mediterranean thing with the lemon potatoes."

"Take a breath or you'll pass out before we can even try it," said Clark. "Let me take the potatoes and peas."

Once everyone sat and the portions divided, Conner watched their reactions. Clark slowed his chewing down, nodding, his lips curving up to a smile. Lois closed her eyes and moaned.

"Forget Gabriel/Gabrielle, we're naming the baby after this dish," she declared. "Holy crap, I'm in epicurean heaven. You actually got your dad to eat peas."

Beaming, he took his first bite. "Hey! It really _is_ good!"

"You mean you didn't taste it when you were cooking?" asked Clark.

"I was but it was work-related. I wasn't sure if it was actually good or if I was just over-thinking it like those people who check on the wines and can tell the year and the location and how much rain fell on it." He took a spoonful of the peas and shredded potatoes. "I frickin' rock."

For a few minutes, the only sounds were forks and knives clinking on plates.

"So, you two went to S.T.A.R.?" Conner asked.

Nodding, Lois said, "Baby's heart is still beating. We saw it twitching around too but Chapel says it's too early for me to feel it moving around."

"Twitching is good?"

"Twitching is very good. It means the brain's working."

"She said the placenta looked bigger than average," Clark added.

Lois waved his worry away. "The baby just needs more food. Completely understandable considering how much you two plow down."

"What does that mean?" asked Conner.

"It means I should eat more."

Conner immediately refilled her plate.

A little edgily, Clark said, "Actually, no one really knows what it means but we have some guesses. The baby could be really big. Or it could run out of room in the uterus because the placenta's taking up all the space. She gave us more supplements--"

"That's my dessert," said Lois.

"-- as well as instructions to stay relaxed and unstressed." Clark stared at her over his glasses.

"I'll relax and unstress the same day you two shred your uniforms and open a sandcastle souvenir store in Hawai'i. Can I have the other chicken thigh?"

"Mom offered to move in with us when the baby's born."

Conner perked up "Really? Grandma here all the time?" Visions of daily culinary adventures danced through his head. He might even learn how to make her totally awesome peach cobbler with the sweetened coconut sprinkles. It would be the awesomest of all awesomes but Aunt Lo didn't usually like extended guests in her personal space, even Grandma.

To his surprise, Lois seemed to consider the idea. "It would be nice to have someone around who knows how to deal with steel-bending babies."

"Technically, I was a steel-bending toddler," said Clark. "We'll all be running blind with the diapering and breastfeeding-- Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Lois stopped rubbing her forehead. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm just a little hot."

"It's March," Conner pointed out.

"Maybe I'm menopausing; I don't know. I just... bleuch, I'm all sweaty."

"Go to bed after dinner," Clark said. "Conner and I will clean up."

The next day, Lois still felt lousy. Her joints ached and her eyes burned sure symptoms of the flu except she didn't feel like she had a fever, just the opposite. She wound her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Someone somewhere in this floor had to have a blanket. If necessary, she could ask Clark to run home for one. She sipped half-heartedly at her tomato juice.

"Boss-lady, did you get-- geez, you don't look too hot." Anna came around the desk and put a hand on her forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"Ten years you've been living here and you don't know that us city people hate close contact. Shoo. Before you catch it, too."

"Nonsense, sugar. I don't get sick. Maybe your blood caffeine's just too low. Want me to get you a nice, big cup of cheap, stale coffee?"

"No, I've got green tea and tomato juice."

Putting a hand on her cocked hip, Anna said, "Now I know you're sick. Green tea?"

"It detoxes your system," said Lois defensively.

"All right. Who are you and what've you done with my real boss?"

"I'm forty in a week. I have to start thinking about detoxes and breast lifts."

"You are the hottest forty-year-old my eyes ever did see. Maybe it's all the corn-fed beef you get." She winked and jerked her chin in the direction of Clark's desk, empty as usual.

"You have a filthy mind, young lady. Send me your copy already."

"I going to say, before I was overcome by your sickly appearance, that ass Lombard managed to infect the entire upstairs network with a spider so all the emails are frozen until we can figure it out."

"Christ. It's like he crawled out of a cave yesterday." Lois massaged her temple. "Okay, tell everyone it's hard copies until further notice which means they should plan to hand everything in earlier. I'll alert the copy editors."

"Done and done, boss-lady." Anna placed her pages on the desk, nearly paper-clipped. "You sure you don't need something? I've got ibuprofen in bulk."

"I'm fine. Don't hover around me when it's close to your yearly evaluation."

By lunch, Lois felt no better. She officially had a slight fever and stomach cramps. A year ago, she would have popped some pills and ignored it. This time, hands shaking, she called S.T.A.R. Labs.

Beth Chapel answered on the second ring. "Cir? How can I help you?"

"I feel sick." She rattled off her symptoms.

"Okay, it may be nothing but I want you to come in as soon as possible," said Chapel. "The stomach cramps could be normal indigestion or it could be uterine. I want you to have an ultrasound and a blood test. Can you call Kal-el?"

"I'll damn well try. Barring that, maybe Kon can take me." She collected her palmtop and some work files for her purse, her briefcase and lunch bag as she spoke.

"Whatever it takes. I'll be waiting with the lab prepped."

"Thanks, doc. I really--" A particularly vicious cramp hit her low in the pubic bone. "Oh shit."

'What?"

"I don't know. I felt... I'll be right there. Anna!" Lois yelled out the door. "I've got to leave ASAP-- what's wrong?" Anna was staring at her wide-eyed and gap-mouthed, her eyes drawn below Lois' beltline.

"Sugar, sit down," she whispered.

Lois looked down. Her belly twisted and pulled down hard then liquid gushed out from between her legs. A bright red puddle widened around her left foot. She swayed at the sight.

"Oh Lordy, someone help! Call 911!" Anna yelled. "Lois, don't move. Did you get cut? What happened?"

Dully, Lois said, "I need to get to New York."

"You're not going anywhere but the ER. Has someone called goddamned 911 yet? Jay-sus Mary Murphy, you all're hard-eyed reporting types; stop being so useless!" Her voice echoed. Funny, the bullpen murmured too much for an echo to form. Lois looked up. Dozens of eyes blurred together, all facing her.

"Clark," she called out. Too soft. He might not hear. "Clark! _Clark!_" She screamed as loud as she could.

"Someone get Kent on his cell phone!" That was Perry. He didn't sound very blustery; she must be going into shock. Lois blinked at him then at his arms around her, holding her up in her chair. When did she sit down? "You're hanging tough, Lane?"

"Always, Chief." She blinked again and he came into focus. "I'm pregnant."

"Shit. Awww, shit, Lane." He rubbed her shoulders vigorously. "Hear those sirens? That's the ambulance coming up the street. They're gonna get you to the hospital right quick."

Lois shook her head vigorously. "I need to get Beth Chapel. She's my Ob-Gyn. She needs to be here. My purse. Where's my purse? My phone's in it." Anna shoved it in her hand. "Chapel?" she said after the second ring. "I'm haemorrhaging."

Chapel's voice was tight. "I'm heading for the chopper right now. Where are you?"

"At work. An ambulance is on the way. The paramedics just came out of the elevators."

"Tell me exactly what happened before the bleeding started and then pass me onto one of the paramedics, okay?"

"I just... I told you. I felt sick all night. Like the flu. Then a few minutes ago I felt feverish and my stomach hurt. It didn't feel like cramps, it just throbbed. Clark!" Lois held a hand out to her partner even as the paramedics guided her onto the stretcher.

He wasn't assembled. He didn't have his tie and his shirt was only partially buttoned up, the hem untucked. His hair stood in soft, curled spikes. His hands shook, hands that effortlessly lifted cars overhead. "I'm here, sweetheart." He stroked her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders, all the while shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry I couldn't come faster. I'm sorry. I'm here now."

"I have Dr. Chapel on the line. She needs to be here now." Lois emphasized the last word.

For a second, Clark looked torn. Then he said, "Conner can get her. I'm staying with you."

She wished she had the energy to disagree.

Conner finally flew.

Nowhere near as smoothly as his dad but he got Dr. Chapel-- masked for oxygen and under a thick coat-- from New York City to the front doors of Metropolis General Hospital in an hour. In his panic, he let the sounds of the hospital overwhelm him before he found his dad's voice saying, "She's still in the OR, Mom. I don't know--"

"She's in the OR," Conner repeated to Dr. Chapel. "I can't figure out which one though. There's like twenty operating rooms."

"Just get me to the reception. I'll find a way there," said Dr. Chapel.

Once inside, he trailed behind the doctor who conjured up weird medicalese voodoo to bypass redtape. They headed through a warren of sterile hallways and brightly coloured rooms, around carts stacked with linen and scrub-clad teams casually ambling to their destinations. Conner wanted to shake some of them-- who cared about sports trades? His aunt was bleeding; they could lose his little brother or sister. Jesus, they could even lose his aunt. Everyone should have been rushing to help.

They turned a corner and his dad was there. Conner felt tiny in comparison. Clark hauled him into his arms and Conner hugged him right back, just as hard. Another pair of arms embraced him; his grandmother's homey scent mixed with ozone and disinfectant. He couldn't breathe properly. He blamed it on the embrace.

"I thought I was going to be too late," he said, finally letting go.

"You did great," said Clark. "I'm the one who slipped up. I was at a B&E in Colorado when I should've been with her all this time. She said she didn't feel good in the morning but she still went to work and I didn't push the issue."

Martha ushered them into the waiting room. It was empty, thankfully. She locked it and closed the blinds. "Clark, honey, you can't blame yourself for this," she said.

Clark's lips tightened into a white line. Conner knew he didn't hear a word Grandma said.

"I should've trained harder," he blurted out. Clark and Martha stared, confused. "If I had better control of my powers, I could've picked up Dad's JL shifts by now then Aunt Lo wouldn't have stressed so much."

"It isn't your responsibility to worry about that," said Clark.

"The fuck it isn't!"

"Boys!" Martha placed one hand on each of their chests. "No one's at fault. Things like this happen; it's horrible and heartbreaking but you can't blame yourself. Either of you."

"But Mom--" Clark said at the same time Conner protested with, "You don't understand--"

"No. Of all the people here, _I_ understand."

Clark looked down. He felt for a chair behind him and collapsed into it. Conner sat across from his dad, unknowingly mimicking his posture.

"I'm going to get us something to eat," she said. "Call me as soon anything changes, okay, honey?" She kissed Clark's cheek, then hugged and kissed Conner. Her comforting scent disappeared when she closed the door.

Conner whipped around, needing to lash out. But, remembering his strength and the possibility that his E-field might frtiz up again, he could only stand, audibly swallowing air as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He eyed the vinyl-covered waiting room chairs. They were a nauseating seafoam colour and still faintly smelling of bleach. He couldn't sit on those. In the end, he braced his back against the wall then let his knees unlock until he sank to the floor.

Classical music piped gently into the room, nearly drowning out the buzz of the outside. Conner closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against his Clark's shoulder. He wanted to say something, to admit his fears or comfort his dad. But an invisible band tightened around his neck each time he tried and all that would come out were ragged hiccups.

His dad slid down beside him. "I'm sacred, too," said Clark. He squeezed Conner's shoulder. And they waited.

Muffled conversations broke through Lois' anaesthetic-fogged sleep first. They confused her at first but, as the drugs wore off, the words threaded into coherent sentences. She didn't like what the sentences meant so she kept her eyes closed and slept some more.

When she woke again, the room was quiet and dark. Martha held her hand; Lois wiggled the numbness out of her fingers so she could feel her mother-in-law's touch. The room was too cold.

"Hi honey." Martha leaned across the railing to smooth her hair away. "It's early in the morning now. You've been asleep for fifteen hours. I sent Conner and Clark home to freshen up and get some clothes for you. They'll be back soon."

Lois wanted to say something flippant. A whole bunch of witticisms ran through her head-- "Conner's going to need at least an hour to pretty up for the nurses" or "Those Metropolis trucks have got to stop hitting me" or even "I'm glad MGH has my favourite knock-out cocktail on file." But when she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was a ragged sob. Once that sob escaped, the dam burst.

Martha climbed into the bed and held her close as she shook with grief. She cried until her head ached from lack of oxygen and her eyes ran out of tears and her nose ran all down her cheek into the pillows. Her throat itched from the morphine or her wailing.

"I d-did everything right! How did... I was doing it all right and it... w-why didn't it work?"

"I know, honey. I know."

"I w-w-went to check-ups every week. I ate right. I exercised e-enough. I took all those goddamn supplements and pills and... they were worried about my age so I had to get st-st-stupid naturopathic sh-shots and... I followed a-a-a-all the rules. I followed every single one of their g-g-goddamned rules."

"Of course, you did. You're so amazing, Lois, you're so wonderful and amazing."

"_Then why didn't it work_?" Lois screamed. She punched the mattress. "Billions of women all over the world can do this. What did I miss? What else could I h-h-have... I must've m-m-missed s-something, I must've--"

"You didn't. You were wonderful, so wonderful, honey." Martha held her closer, tighter. "This wasn't your fault. This wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened. It's cruel and unfair and it happens but, oh Lois, sweetie, I wish it hadn't happened to you."

Words bubbled out of her, leaking through the now-cracked emotional shield. "I didn't even really want the baby. I don't like kids. They're messy and sn-snotty and they grow up hating everything you ever tried to do for them and I know I'd never be any good at it but Clark was just so excited about the idea. You know Clark; he's so g-good with Conner, I thought if anyone deserved to be a dad, it would be him, you know? He'd be so happy and...

"When we lost the first baby, I was fine. I was _fine_ because I was prepared for it. Isn't that stupid? I thought it was a trial run for this one and... and I thought, hey my dad was blond, maybe the kid would look like Jonathan. Then he b-became real. And he became mine. I imagined his face." Her chin trembled. "Why didn't we tell anyone we were pregnant? I must've self-sabotaged or... or... _something_. I must've--"

"Stop that," said Martha. "You can't blame yourself. It's no one's fault. I'll keep repeating that until you believe it."

Lois shook her head. She'd never believe it. "Stupid, anorexic w-wastes of oxygen in Hollywood pop those damn b-b-babies out like gumball machines. Teenagers who barely know a d-dick from a pencil have babies! Everyone can h-have babies except me! I don't _get_ it! I don't g-g-g-get… I d-d-don't guh-guh--" And she had to stop.

"I know. Cry it out, honey. Cry it out, my baby. My poor, sweet baby, I'm here."

"Oh God, Mom."

She felt herself started to fall apart again so she gripped Martha's shoulders and pressed her cheek against her chest. Her shoulders shook again; she couldn't breathe properly. All she could do was make a keening noise until the world faded away again into numbing sleep.

* * *

_Beth Chapel is played by Tracee Ellis Ross. In the comics, Chapel is known as the second Dr. Mid-Nite, a superhero who can only see in the dark. For reasons that will be revealed later, I changed her powers slightly._


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Clark's Hell was a hospital filled with his loved ones. The fear didn't lessen over the years; they actually grew worse. Seeing Lois hooked up to an IV was no easier now than it was the first time eighteen years ago when she ran afoul of Smallville's meteor-infected criminals. There had been too many other times.

Someone knocked. Clark scanned through the wall and saw Ollie holding a small posey of cypress and lavender. He opened the door. "Hey."

"Hey," Ollie replied then immediately hauled Clark into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, man."

Clark nodded, swallowing. "How did you know?"

"Your mom called us. She said you might need some company." He held the bouquet up. "This is from the usual suspects. A.C. wanted to come up but his goddamn council won't move an inch. He said he'll try to sneak away this weekend."

"Who's in the Tower?"

"Victor. Bart's at your place with Conner and Martha. We've got everything covered, don't worry."

Clark nodded, placing the tiny posey in its crystal globe vase on the sidetable. Lois stirred but didn't wake. He laced his fingers through hers and, with his free hand, pinched the bridge of his nose. Common wisdom said it relieved headaches. Maybe it was a human thing. Ollie pulled a chair beside him and squeezed his shoulder briefly but didn't say a thing. Clark appreciated his restraint. They'd been friends long enough, gone through enough together, that the shared silence was comforting.

A long while later, Ollie spoke. "Was it a girl or a boy?"

"A boy," Clark answered. "He was barely the size of my thumb but his hands were perfectly shaped and his f-feet..." He didn't say the baby's skin looked and felt like rock-salt, that the same organ which helped him convert sunlight into nearly limitless energy killed his son. He grew too fast, the skin too slowly; it choked the soft bones of his head and tore the still-forming muscles. "Lois also had something called placenta accreta where the placenta grows into the uterine muscle. They said if the baby had gone to term, it would have gone straight through and--"

He stopped for a breath. Ollie looked up, nodded and Clark found his voice again. "She was in the OR for three hours. When the placenta tore off, it took that muscle with it. Sheer luck alone kept the tear from perforating her womb completely. They called for three units of pRBCs, for towels instead of sponges to soak up the blood. I heard the nurse ask the doctor if they should get the crash cart ready for a Code Blue and I heard the doctor say y-yes and all I could think of w-w-was that I'd lose them both and--"

"You didn't," said Ollie.

"But it was close!" Lois stirred again. Clark lowered his voice. "I've accepted that Lois' life is in danger on a regular basis because of the nature of her work and... well, she's Lois." They shared a quick smile. "But this time, it wasn't because of her job, it was because I'm so damned selfish, I couldn't keep my mouth shut about the stupid IVF experiment."

"Don't talk like that, Kent. It's not your fault," Ollie began gently.

He snorted, looking away. "How can this not be my fault?"

More sharply, Ollie said, "Because your girlfriend is Lois Lane and I don't remember the last time she did anything she didn't want to. Grant her the brains of a gnat and admit she was part of this decision."

"So now it's _her_ fault she's bleeding to death?"

"No! God! It's like talking to a brick wall." He stood, agitated. "No one's at fault here. Not you for wanting a baby or Lois for having a human womb or S.T.A.R. for coming up with an experimental procedure or the weather being unnatural cold thereby causing Lois to catch the flu or any of the other things you're listing in your head, most of which start with your name. You can't tear yourself up about something you can't control."

Clark squeezed his eyes shut as though he could shut Ollie's words out. "You're full of it, Queen."

"Screw you, Kent." Ollie sighed. "Okay, tear yourself up but only for a couple hours while I'm here. After that, you have to be strong for Lois. She's tough but sometimes tough means you crack." Hearing Ollie move towards the bed, Clark opened his eyes. Ollie brushed the back of his fingers against Lois' pale cheek. "You're lucky. She lets herself crack around you."

True, Clark admitted. But he wanted to make it so she never had to.

* * *

No matter how hard Martha tugged, Conner refused to come out from under his bed sheets. "I'm sleeping."

"I want your help in the kitchen," said Martha. "I'm going to make macaroons. They're Aunt Lo's favourite."

In response, he curled up into a tighter call. The bed dipped as his grandmother sat on the edge. She rubbed large, firm circles on his back through the sheets the way his mom did when he was little. At the thought of Chloe, Conner tensed even further. It was like he was doomed to save everyone except his family.

"Have I told you how much I enjoy your interest in cooking? You're quite talented. I've never seen anyone pick up bread-making as quickly." When he kept his silence, she persisted, "I'll make the macaroons then and save the first batch for you with a nice, hot mug of hot chocolate, okay, sweetie? I just want you to promise you won't leave without tell me or Bart."

"Bart's here?"

"Yes."

Good. Bart could take care of Grandma and all the rest of that stuff. Conner just couldn't. He couldn't face up to his failures just yet. If he'd learned to fly a lot sooner, maybe he could have brought Dr. Chapel earlier. Or, even earlier than that, if his stupid E-field didn't go bonkers, maybe he'd be farther along in his training and his dad would've been able to trust him with half the Superman shifts, just like they planned.

"You know," said Martha, "it took a long time to convince your dad was that all the world's problems aren't his to fix. Your abilities, as wonderful and varied as they are, still have limits. _You_ have limits. I think because of who you are, you and your dad have a difficult time truly understanding that. I want you to know that to the people who really love you-- me, Aunt Lo, Dad, Mom and all your truly good friends-- these limits matter very little."

He felt her lean over him. Her kiss touched the top of his head.

"You're doing well, sweetie. I'm so very, very proud of you."

Of course, Conner, being who he was, focused on what he wanted to hear, mainly that his abilities, as wonderful and varied as they were, still had limits. Superboy had limits. That just wasn't right. There had to be a way to get rid of those limits or at least extend them as far as they could go. More than ever, he knew Batman could help. Batman didn't have a drop of meta in him but he was still one of the most feared and respected members of the League. He _had_ to train Conner. His dad was going to kill him but... Conner sighed. Might as well go help with the cooking to earn brownie points.

His grandma beamed when he left the room, filling Conner with even guilt about the brownie-point thought. "So, uh, macaroons? Like with chocolate?"

"Aunt Lo prefers the European version so I'm using almond slivers. Can you beat these egg whites until they're stiff, please?" And so, on gentle order after the other, Martha eased his tension. His planned conversation stayed in the back of his mind until the elevator's hum announced Clark's arrival.

"I want better training," Conner blurted out as soon as his dad walked through the front door.

Clark blinked slowly. "Um, okay. With cooking?"

"I want to train with the Bat." Conner rushed into the rest of his explanation before Clark could deny the request. "He trained Dick and Ti-- Robin. He's super hardcore; he totally won't cut me any slack and I think I need that."

"No one needs the Bat like that," said Clark. "Also, he hates my guts. He might transfer that to you."

"Come _on_, Dad."

"I'm being serious. His xenophobia's common knowledge; who knows what he'll do to someone of mixed-heritage?"

Martha gingerly stepped between the two of them. "Bart's just going to accompany me to the store for a few more vegetables. Conner, don't forget to take the macaroons to rest when they're done."

Both men only nodded in acknowledgement.

"The flying and what I can do with the E-field is like a whole new thing," said Conner, "Jor-el can't do much except tell me to keep working my mind and J'Onn just helps me clamp it down, not use it. I need some sort of hardcore bootcamp thing."

"So I'll ask J'Onn to increase the intensity of your lessons."

But Conner was already shaking his head half-way through his dad's sentence. "Training with them isn't enough. I still can't figure out what to do when my E-field's gone haywire and I can still get hurt. We don't know if that's ever going to go away. I need real fight training."

"Fine, I'll ask Dinah or Dick--"

"No!" Conner threw his hands up in the air. "They're all afraid of you so none of them want to be as tough on me. You know it's true. I feel frickin' useless most days 'cause I have to gauge whether my E-field's controlled enough for deployment or not. I'm totally the master of all things monitor duty and that's just so wrong. I hate watching. I want to do things. That B&E you were at? If my powers were under control, I could've taken care of that. I could've been there and you could've been with Aunt Lo."

"I told you, that's not your problem."

"It _is_! Whether you like it or not, I'm in the League, Dad. I have as much responsibility as you do."

"No, you don't and you know why? Because you're a child."

"Bull--"

"It's not bull." Clark shook him by the shoulders. "You _are_ just a child and more importantly, you're _my_ child. You should be in something safe like restaurant management or video game development or... something that's _not_ the League. I wish I'd never let you join."

Conner pulled away. "Too frickin' late, I have and I love it. Every time I help out, I feel like I'm worth something."

"Conner, you're worth more than gold just standing there breathing."

"To you I am. But for me...I feel like I'm worth something more when I help. Like I'm actually making a dent in everything going wrong." He swallowed. "You can't keep me safe forever."

"I can damn well try," Clark bit out. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing circles around his eyes and temples.

Conner slouched away from him and glowered at the floor. Balls.

His dad held out his hand. "Conner, come here."

"No." The response was childish but he was "just a child," wasn't he? He crossed his arms, glaring so hard at the linoleum it was amazing his heat vision didn't kick in. A tepid breeze tousled his hair and the next thing he knew, his dad was squeezing him hard. He'd never get used to the physicality of their affection, his dad and Aunt Lo. They hugged about _everything_. He refrained from thinking about how hard he hugged back.

"If I'd been around when you were a child, maybe this would be easier," said Clark. "Maybe I'd be able to let you go to develop into the good, conscientious adult I know you're going to be."

"Conscientious. That's a hundred-dollar word." To ease the emotions threatening to turn him into a blubbering idiot, Conner changed the subject. "We have a lot of vegetables. Grandma didn't need to buy more."

"She left to give us a chance to talk. She's smart like that."

* * *

After a light, home-cooked meal and a shower, Clark returned to the hospital. He didn't like the idea of Lois waking up alone. She slept soundly until dark. When her breathing pattern changed, Clark knew she'd wake up soon. He heard her toes scratch against the blanket as her eyes fluttered open. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"C'mere. You look bad, Smallville," she said, her voice hoarse.

"At least I've showered." He kissed her lightly. "I love you."

"Love you, too. You think you can crawl up in here so I can show you how much?"

"Um, hospital beds aren't made for guys my size. Also, I think you're too drugged up to be much fun."

"Aw, really? I thought drugs were supposed to take sex to a higher level." She poked his chest. "In my incapacitated state, you can finally do those nasty ET things to me. What's this I hear about tentacles?"

If she wasn't so hurt, Clark would find this conversation hilarious. "Tentacles?"

"Research for that damned Wonder Woman exposé piece of crap. Satpal sent me a link. You have sex tentacles. S'why your uniform's so bulgy."

"Bulgy? Oh! Bulgy." Clark blushed.

"Didn't look like a tentacle to me. Maybe I should've looked closer. Having suction cups there could be interesting."

Clark sputtered for a second or two before he caught the mischievous glint in Lois' eyes. "You must be feeling better if you're back to insulting me."

"Somewhat. I'm trying to keep the breakdowns at bay. One a day is my limit; the snot and tears dehydrate me." But despite her words, her chin trembled and she had to bite her lower lip to still it.

Clark lowered the railing so he could rest his head on the pillow beside hers. He took both her hands, kissed the knuckles fiercely then tucked them under his chin. "You don't have to be strong for me right now, sweetheart. Shush, you think I don't know how much I lean on you? You're strong for me when I need to be strong for the world. But, Lois, if I can be strong for the whole world, the least I can do the same for you." He brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.

He held her as she cried. They were soft tears this time, not the gut-tearing ones he'd heard yesterday. She cried again the next day when they went home and she caught sight of the nursery. He kept that door closed and for the rest of the day, plastered himself to Lois' side, reminding her to sleep and buying her ice cream. Peripherally, he knew Ollie and Bart had joined forces with his mom to cover the basic life essentials-- food, bills, mopping-- as well as arrange the baby's memorial. He couldn't. Lois came first right now.

Four days after they left the hospital, Clark found her clearing out the kitchen cupboards, dusting the shelves and throwing every piece of tableware against the wall. She wasn't hurting anything except their bank account so he let her be until she ran out of plates.

"You could've stretched your staples and hurt yourself," he said.

"I think I did. Yet strangely, I feel much better." She rubbed her abdomen then reached around the kitchen's island to twine her fingers around his. "I was just pissed off at the world again. Kick-boxing is out and video games don't take enough of the edge off so I settled for breaking china. I bet I freaked Conner out, huh?"

"I sent him to buy more tableware around the time you started fastballing the mugs. He'll probably detour for take-out brunch, too. He might be too shell-shocked to cook."

"That kid's Good People."

"He certainly is."

"Do you think our next kid's going to end up half as awesome?"

Five minutes or five hours may have passed before Clark found his voice again. "_Next_ kid?"

"Yeah. The doctor said it would take at least two months to recover completely from the surgery but I don't know if that includes child-bearing."

"No!" Clark burst out. He shouted so rarely even Lois looked taken aback. "You're not getting pregnant again."

"Smallville, I know you think grief is talking but I know that you know the best way for me to resolve any type of emotion is to do something about it and--"

"No. Just... no. Lois, do you know how close you came to dying?" He didn't wait for her to answer

"But I lived, Clark. I'm here. I'm whole and healthy and I want another child."

"Then we'll adopt."

"I want _your_ baby, Smallville. If I have to carve your swimmers out myself, I'm going to have your baby."

Clark stared, at a complete loss for words.

"A little too graphic?" said Lois.

"This isn't the time to be flip."

Letting out a sigh, she pressed against him and, when he failed to return her embrace, she positioned his arms around her waist. "One more time, Clark. We agreed three tries."

"No."

"It's my body."

"It's my sperm."

"Now who's being flip?"

"Damn it, Lois!" He rarely cursed. Those types of words tasted bitter. However, some situations called for expletives. "If you want a half-kryptonian baby, let's find a surrogate."

"Like who? Diana? That'll go swimmingly with the tabloids."

"I don't care about the tabloids."

"I do."

"More than you care about your life? This isn't the fantastical world you've made up where you're the one with superpowers. You're not in competition with Diana. She doesn't even know who you are."

Lois crossed her arms. "Of course not. You never talk about me in the Watchtower."

He didn't know when this conversation jerked into a sharp turn towards crazy but there they were. "I'm not _supposed_ to talk about you at work. That's why we have secret identities."

"Don't patronise me!" Lois yelped. "I'm recovering from a D&E not a lobotomy."

"Maybe when you start making Earth sense--"

"Oooh, you just don't get it!"

"Then explain it to me! Why are you stuck on having a mixed baby? Why do _you_ have to carry it? Why do _you_ have to be the one who gets hurt?" With each question, Clark leaned harder against the kitchen island. It was either crack the countertop or shake Lois silly.

"For the same reason _you_ have to dress up in skintight primary colours and rescue the world every thirty seconds and if you even think about your supposed invulnerability to everything, I'm going to find something green and glowy to bludgeon you with."

The countertop creaked. Clark ground his teeth, taking several deep breaths. "Sit down. You're stressing yourself out." He thought he managed those two sentences in a normal tone.

"I'm only doing it because I want to get better sooner," said Lois. She gingerly made her way to the sofa. Halfway there, Clark couldn't help but follow beside her. She put an arm around his waist. "Are we done fighting now?"

"Yeah. But let the record show that I still disagree."

"Duly noted, Smallville. I'm going to need those painkillers now. Yelling requires abdominal muscles. Who knew?"

"Oh, Lois." Clark framed her face with his hands.

"Oh, Smallville." She nuzzled his palms, nipped at his thumb then kissed it better.

"What would I do without you?"

"Probably live a bland, stress-free life among the cows and the cornfields."

"Horrific."

"I know. You can thank me with kinky sex later. Maybe in a week when my vajayjay doesn't feel like I douched with rusty razors." She curled into his side. Wrapping both arms around her, Clark pressed rested his cheek against her hair. "I never wanted to be a journalist at first, remember?"

He nodded.

"I don't know when precisely I figured out I really, truly wanted to have a baby," she said. "I adore Conner, the little twerp, but I know in my gut that we're meant to have a child together. I know we'll be awesome at it. I really want this, Clark, as much as I want a shelf of Pulitzers and you."

Exhaling, Clark said, "When have I ever been able to keep you from doing anything? Just one last try. If a doctor independent of S.T.A.R. Labs thinks your life is at risk from carrying the child, please remember without you, my mom wouldn't have a daughter, City would fall apart in two minutes, and Conner and I would be utterly destroyed."

"Likewise." She kissed his neck.

* * *

On the muddiest Sunday in March, Gabriel Lane-Kent was laid to rest in his tiny white urn at Smallville's only cemetery, Gethsemane Gardens. His plaque lay beside his Grandpa Jonathan's, its delicately carved white stone dwarfed by the larger, rough-hewn granite. A row away was his Auntie Chloe's memorial stone.

Conner returned here after the funeral party moved to the farm. He couldn't stand the contrast of milling guests and awkward silence with his dad's distracted solemnity and his aunt's forced smiles. At least half of Smallville had showed up bearing casseroles. Granda flew in from the north. Since Lex Luthor was kicked out of office, he lived as Gabe Sullivan again but Smallville had held too many painful memories for him to move back. Grampa Sam attended, lost and uncomfortable with the emotional outpouring. Most of the Daily Planet staff was here as well although only Lois' City team stayed for both the funeral and the following reception. It was a given that the Originals would come but Conner hadn't expected Ollie to bring his whole family-- Roy and his daughter, Lian; Connor, whose name caused a great deal of confusion until someone came up with the brilliant idea of referring to them as Big Con and Little Conn; and Cissie. It was weird pretending he barely knew them, especially Cissie, who had kicked his ass so many times, he knew the tread-marks of her boots by feel.

It was all too weird and so Conner left to walk aimlessly only to end up here, at the cemetery, staring up the knoll at his baby brother's headstone. He couldn't face that again. Instead, he took the wimpy way out and stopped at the plaque bearing the carving "Chloe Anne Sullivan. May 5, 1987 - May 21, 2022." Under her name was a quote by Nellie Bly: "I said I could and I would. And I did."

Realising he came empty handed, Conner zipped to a local florist and dropped off a ten for a handful of tulips. He placed them in the stone's build-in vase, tulips only slightly ruffled by his speed. Then he didn't have anywhere to sit on so he zipped away again, this time to the barn to fetch a tarp.

"Hi, Mom. Sorry, I haven't visited. Things have been interesting in the Chinese curse way." He rarely talked when he visited his mom. When she'd been alive, they did nothing but talk. Observers had often commented on how mother and son chattered over each other, neither one pausing for the other yet both able to comprehend the conversation. Talking to her without her input just seemed wrong so Conner usually sat and let his thoughts cycle through his mind where he could imagine his mom voice.

_All that food at Grandma's house and you're out here, two-bit? Are you sure you're my boy?_ He pictured her grinning up at him.

_I'm not really hungry right now_, Conner would have replied.

_Funerals will do that to some people. Me, I stress eat._

Conner almost smiled. He reached out to trace her name again._ I miss you so much. Dad and Aunt Lo are great but they're not you. I miss you. _His breath caught somewhere behind his sternum and the next thing he knew, he was bawling. He hadn't cried like this during his mom's funeral. The closest he'd gotten was a weekend under his covers a month after his move to Metropolis and even then, he'd only teared up. Where the hell was this sobbing coming from?

_Delayed reaction grief,_ Chloe's voice told him. _You got that from your dad although I don't think even he waited two years before bawling. That must be an awful lot of grief in you._

_I miss you. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. I just... is there a word bigger than miss?_

_To yearn. To pine._

_All of that then. It's like the day you left, everything normal went away, too._

_You don't like normal._

_But I don't like sad either!_

_So you're sad being with your dad and aunt?_

_No! I just... I just don't want anyone else to die. And I want you here._

A warm kicked up and he could almost feel her arms around his shoulders._ I'll always be with you. All around you._

He gulped that warm air in and a calmness steadied his breathing._ Hey, Mom?_

_Yes, two-bit?_

_My baby brother's going there. Could you take care of him for us? I know you'll love him; you took me in, right?_

The warmth settled over all Conner, like someone wrapped him in a fleece blanket and a hug. The tulips ruffled. One petal shivered and fell on the plaque, covering the last sentence on Chloe's epitaph. It now read "I said I would and I could" with a yellow-white heart as a period. Just like that, a thorny ball sorrow he hadn't even known was still under his ribs went away.

"Thanks, Mom. Love you."

_I love you, too, two-bit._


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

"Superboy, do you have a few minutes to spare?"

Conner looked up from his glum study of the monitors. "Sure, Robin. I'm just about finished with monitor duty. What's up?"

"We can speak when you're finished," said Tim.

Materialising through the doors, J'Onn said, "Actually, I can take over from now on. Consider yourself dismissed, Kon-el."

Conner managed a weak smile as he stood to follow his team captain to the barracks. A few people like Arsenal lived here full time and had full suites. The rest of the rooms, basic as dorms, were available at a first-come-first-served basis. Tim went in first then positioned himself between the door and the narrow twin bed, his cape gathered around to completely cover his body. With no where else to go, Conner sat on the bed.

"How are things at home?" Tim asked.

What? Conner blinked. "What?"

"You don't seem very... happy." Tim's cape twitched. "Sorry. I'm not used to this part of leadership. Arrowette was better. She connected with people well."

"No, no, it's just weird going from You the Buddy to You the Team Leader. My head needs a little, y'know, wrench and twist and spinning of dials." Conner pantomimed doing just that. "I'm fine. Things are home are a little hand-wavy but copeable, I guess."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Unless you can figure out a way to convince Superman to let Batman train me, no."

Tim's eyes widened behind his Robin mask. "You want Batman to train you."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Grinning, Conner said, "You're his sidekick and you're asking why?"

"Because I'm his sidekick, I'm asking why," corrected Tim. "You and Batman would be worse than oil and water. You'd be Antarctica and a blowtorch; I'd have to sweep up the remains and tell your dad about it. Bringing bad news to a man who bench-presses skyscrapers is generally agreed to be hazardous to one's health."

"I got my reasons," Conner said. "Besides, you and Nightwing survived, yeah?"

Darkness flashed over Tim's face. If they hadn't gotten to be such good friends in the past year, he never would have noticed it. Clark entered the room however, before Conner could ask Tim about it.

"We have to talk, son." Clark put a hand on his shoulder.

With a brief nod, Tim settled into the Robin persona and slipped away. Clark led Conner into a small meeting room and gestured him to a seat. The younger man fought the urge to swing his legs.

"I've thought about your proposal to train under Batman," said Clark. "I'm still not convinced but--"

"Come on, Dad! I can--"

"But," he repeated with emphasis, "_Someone_ is determined to get pregnant again. I want to be at home as much as possible if that happens which means I'm willing to be convinced. And before you ask, I've already tried talking her out of it. As expected, it didn't go over too well."

"You should've tried reverse psychology," said Conner.

Clark's lips twitched as he held back his smile. "You try it and see how far you get. Back to training with Batman-- you have three objectives to achieve before I even approach him to take you on as an apprentice."

"Totally. Anything!"

"First, I want at least four A's on your report card by this summer." Clark paused, presumably to gauge his reaction. Conner gamely nodded. "Second, I'll ask J'Onn for a recommendation regarding your telepathic training. If he doesn't give you an A, you don't go. Finally, I'll be taking verbal reports from three League members regarding your work ethic and abilities. You won't know who they are because I still don't know who they are. They won't all be Young Justice members though so don't think you'll coast on your friends' good words."

"I don't need to coast on anyone," said Conner. Following impulse, he rushed forward and squeezed his dad around the waist. Just as suddenly, the affectionate gesture embarrassed him. He stepped away and punched his dad's shoulder. "Thanks! You rock like granite."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't said yes."

"But you will. I can totally feel it." If he had any rhythm, Conner would have danced out the room. As it was, he had to be satisfied to bopping his head to a victorious soundtrack playing in his head.

* * *

One uncomfortable conversation finished, two more to go. Clark adjusted his sleeves. Time to beard the lion. Or, more accurately, a bat. While Conner's request shocked him at first, he saw another, more political benefit. According to Dick, Bruce's loyalty was evenly split between Gotham and his family, the Robins and Batgirls he'd taken under his wing. If he trained Conner, it would be one more connection between Bruce and the League. It was a slim hope at best but Diana and Ollie were convinced of Batman's importance.

An aural scan of the Watchtower put Batman in an antechamber to the Council Room, pouring over field reports with Nightwing. Dick would probably thank him for the rescue. In less than a minute, he knocked at the door.

"Enter." Batman's voice was raspy and deep.

Clark slid the door open and took one step inside, his arms automatically crossing over his chest. "I would like to speak with you alone, Batman."

Nightwing's brows arched at his crisp pronunciation. He'd slipped into Formal Superman mode, Clark realised, the one who spoke to reporters and new Justice League members. In truth, he disliked it. It reminded him of Jor-el. However, around uncomfortable situations, he couldn't help himself. It was his version of a mask.

"We're busy," said Batman without turning around.

"It will only take five minutes."

"I need to stretch my legs anyway. I heard the cafeteria food's actually edible today; can't miss that," Nightwing said. He slapped Superman on the back as he left.

"I'm not interested in anything you say unless it's related to keeping your spawn out of Gotham," said Batman.

"Completely the opposite actually. I'd like you to train my spawn." Clark tried to keep his tone deliberately light. No sense in aggravating the psycho.

"That request doesn't warrant a response."

"But you did respond. If only to say it doesn't warrant a response."

Batman turned around to deliver a withering stare which Clark answered with an extra brilliant smile and to hell with aggravating the psycho.

"You're aware of Kon-el's growing pains," he continued. "Sometimes, it leaves him vulnerable. He would benefit from your type of training for those times and to increase his knowledge in general."

"I have a lot of things on my plate. Babysitting aliens is low on the list. Besides, he couldn't take my type of training." He turned his back on Clark again.

"He's determined it be you."

"Give him to your buddy, Green Arrow. I'm busy."

"At least consider it," said Clark, letting his exasperation show. "If kryptonians are as dangerous as you say, what better way ensure our ties to earth than to make one of us your protégé?"

Batman clicked around on the monitors. So, it was to be the silent treatment. Little did the Gothamite know-- Clark could out-brood every person he'd ever met.

"I've given Kon-el three evaluative objectives, among them, verbal recommendations from several individuals. I'd like one to come from you. Weigh his dedication and abilities fairly, ignoring whatever you have against me. If after four months, you honestly think he isn't fit for your regime, I'll never bother you about it again. If, however, he passes even your ridiculous standards, you'll train him for a year, well enough to replace me if need be."

Batman's computer clicking slowed. "What's happening in a year?"

Clark weighed his strategies. His standard answer had the advantage of being constant throughout the JL and the public. Only the Originals knew about Lois and they wouldn't talk should Batman snoop around which he undoubtedly would. He was Batman. He could tell the truth, names and all. League rules demanded first names but he knew Batman suspected he had another identity. Levelling the playing field by offering his civvie-ID could go a long way in earning his trust. But which one to use?

He circled the room, coming to a stop across from Batman. Clark sat and stared at him. Batman's vaunted patience lasted less than five minutes before he looked up to glower at him.

"Nightwing's a good detective," said Clark.

Pride, delight, acceptance and most importantly, love, flashed through Batman's eyes before he shuttered his expression back to grimness. Clark set his decision.

"My partner and I are trying to conceive. Because she's human, she's having a hard time being pregnant; in fact, we've gone through two miscarriages already." Clark's throat tightened. He coughed to clear it. "We're trying one last time and I want to be as available to her as possible both during the pregnancy and in raising the baby. However, I also know that there are situations where only my abilities can help. My compromise is to trim my time down with Kon-el taking half my duties."

"What did you do when the boy was growing up?" Batman demanded.

"His mother raised him; I wasn't around," said Clark. "I didn't know about him until recently."

"Two years ago."

He nodded.

"You make a habit of impregnating and leaving human females?"

Clark wondered if Batman had anything in his utility belt against a kryptonian kick in the balls. "Not that it's any of your business but I've remained faithful to the same woman for ten years. Kon-el's mother raised him away from me because she believed she was protecting us but now that I have him, I love him more than you could possibly imagine. I loved him even before I knew he existed, like there'd been a place in my heart waiting for him to fill--" He cut the sentence off. "You know what? Forget it. I'll ask Nightwing to train him."

He stood and headed for the door. It slid open before Batman spoke, still gruffly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," said Clark, meaning it.

"I won't be easy on him because he's yours."

Clark turned around, showing his irritation. "Honestly, Batman, that's the last thing I expected from you. Have a nice day."

* * *

Talking to Pieter Cross was easy after that ordeal. Clark deliberately planned the conversations in that order; he knew he'd need someone to cool him down. As much as Clark trusted Patricia Swann and S.T.A.R. Labs, he wasn't naïve enough to believe they were all helping out with the pregnancy out of the goodness of their own hearts. Their first priority would be the child then Lois, Clark's was the opposite, as much as he would love to have their baby. Pieter would offer an objective second opinion on Lois' health. He wouldn't turn down the opportunity to help anyone in need. The head of the League's medical services had a very calming, friendly demeanour. After talking with Batman, Clark _really_ needed to calm the hell down.

"I'd love to help," said Pieter after Clark explained the whole story, barring real names. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"Thank you for accepting," said Clark. "I know you're already busy with your own practice and your hours here on top of that."

"It would be an honour to help out, really." Pieter's expression turned speculative. "I'm a general surgeon; I know a little bit of everything that goes through the OR. For something as unique as your partner's situation, I would feel much more comfortable with another Ob-Gyn to consult with."

"There's Chapel," Clark said. "If you put your heads together--"

"Yes, but there's the issue of objectivity which you're so worried about."

A cough sounded from the door. Clark turned around swiftly. Diana stood at the door, vaguely embarrassed. He'd been so concentrated on the conversation, he failed to hear her footsteps.

"I could not help but overhear," she said. "You say need an obstetrician for your wife."

Clark nodded.

"My partner is one. She has nearly seven years' experience with that specialty and before that, she was a nurse in a paediatric intensive care unit. If you do not mind opening your private sphere a little wider, I am certain she would be glad to help."

Something resembling a chuckle left Clark's lips. He leaned against the examination table and covered his face with one hand, trying to stifle the hysteria in his laughter. It didn't work too well; Pieter approached him with a cautious, "Kal-el?"

"It just occurred to me how much trouble we could have avoided if I'd told all of you this sooner," he said. "I'm sorry. I trust you both with my life; I should be able to trust you with who's best in my life."

"No apologies needed. None of us here are completely candid about our private life exactly for the safety of our loved ones," said Diana.

"Thank you," said Clark gravely. "Please let me know if your partner would be willing to help us and we can arrange a meeting in the near future."

All smiles, Diana grasped his arm in a warrior's clasp which easily transformed into friendly backslaps. "I am only too glad to return the kindness you once showed me. Although--" her nose wrinkled-- "we must take care to keep prying eyes away. Should the media interpret our meetings incorrectly, it will only fuel the tabloid fire. Strange how they persist in their belief of an intimate, romantic relationship between us despite all we have said to the contrary. Why, even Lois Lane from the Daily Planet interviewed me about it. I had always thought her too level-headed to stoop to such pandering."

Clark couldn't quite stop himself from chuckling.

* * *

A little less than a week after her return to work, Lois itched for something to occupy her mind. No one at the Planet seemed to know what to do around her, not even her own team who really should have known better. Anna had taken to mothering. Combined with Clark's pre-existing protective tendencies, they drove Lois completely batshit. She yelled at them on a regular basis but they weren't even considerate enough to yell back. Satpal smiled all the damn time, like she could force Lois to be cheerful. Even Lombard, the ass, stayed out of her way or actually shut his Neanderthal mouth when she walked by. Ron was normal, kind of. Ron tried to act as normal as possible she still caught him throwing an occasional pitying glance at herself or Clark. If there was anything Lois hated more, it was pity.

Home was no better. During Lois and Clark's bereavement leave, Martha had taken one look at the royal mess of the condo and led the charge to a massive clean up. She understood that Lois needed activity to deal with... with everything. But that plan had backfired; what would have taken a week to scour, polish and re-arrange finished in four days, thanks to Lois' zeal. She had cleaned past midnight when Clark literally carried her to bed then woke up just after dawn to do it all over again.

She sat at home right now, hands cupped around disgustingly healthy and alarmingly green drink. A recommendation from Bart, of all people, her junk food compatriot. He'd brought it over with so much big-eyed earnestness her snark died on her lips. No one could snark at Bart when he used that big-eyed, lost orphan expression even if he _was_ in his thirties. It was probably why he got away with everything. But it was yet another example of how different everyone was now when she desperately needed them to be the same.

Lois sat at home because being a managing editor meant not having to chase after leads or shake down sources. It meant keeping normal hours, doling out the dangerous (read: exciting) stories to underlings in exchange for an extra zero on her paycheque. True, that extra zero would have been helpful with another kid--

She pinched the bridge of her nose. It _would_ be helpful. They _would_ have another kid.

If she actually had a life outside of work, she wouldn't be so bored, Lois reflected. _If you weren't so pissed off at everyone, you'd have a life right now._

Where did that inner voice come from? It sounded a lot like Chloe. And _that_ thought made Lois emotional all over again, dammit. Of course she'd think about her cousin these days. After her mom died, Lois and Lucy had stayed with their Uncle Gabe. Chloe, with her sharp mind running a hundred miles a minute, helped Lois start to slowly work through her grief. They talked through the first night and halfway through the next day before passing out from exhaustion. As much as she loved Clark, she needed Chloe's voice.

"Damn stupid... argh!" Lois put down her mug. "This place is too empty."

The condo echoed.

Lois muttered, "Of course. I guess I can play another rousing re-enactment of the Karate Kid's training montage. Dust the house. Sand the floor. Wax on, wax off. Even though the only room you haven't turned into Martha Stewart's condo away from home is the n-nursery. Shit." She pressed a hand to her forehead.

Three soft raps sounded at the door. "Lois, dear? It's Mom."

Company! Thank God! Lois leapt out of the couch to let Martha in. "I didn't know you were coming over. How was the drive?"

"I didn't see any twisters so I consider that a good April. Ben Hubbard-- remember him the next farm over?-- had some fresh poultry so I thought I'd bring them over along with the new peppercorn sausages I experimented with last fall." Martha rolled in her goodies. "You all could use better protein in your diet anyway."

"Thanks Mom." Lois gave into the urge and hugged Martha tight.

She reciprocated immediately. "Is... is everything all right dear?"

"It's fine," she said. "I'm just always glad you're around. It means we don't have to waste money buying food."

Martha laughed. "I thought Conner cooked most nights."

"The way that kid eats, that's fortunate or else he'd spend all his money on take-out like his wastrel guardians."

"It might also help him feel more useful. You know how he's been going on about that."

"He totally gets that from Clark." They shared a laugh. "He's a sweet kid," Lois continued. "He tries so hard to be grown up all the time and it just... he's got that same sense of responsibility for the world that Clark did at that age, remember?"

"Oh, yes."

"Just with a less visible moping and a lot more dating."

Martha laughed again. "I don't envy you that. We only worried that he'd get married too soon and for all the wrong reasons."

"God, I remember teasing the hell out of him when we were kids. All he ever wanted then was Lana, a picket fence and two-point-five kids. And look what he has now-- a condo in one of biggest urban sprawls in the country, spandex and me." Lois snorted.

"And he couldn't be happier," said Martha. When Lois would have looked away, the older woman patted her cheek and tucked a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Let's get these put away in the freezer. By the way, I can't find my brown-reading glasses anywhere. Fordman's has a few in the same prescription but, oh, I suppose I'm getting vain in my old age. I really like the way the brown ones look."

"I haven't seen it but it's probably stuck in a drawer somewhere," Lois said. "if we can't find it, I'll ask Clark to look."

"Thank you, dear." She stood in the middle of the kitchen, still perturbed. "You know, now that I think about it, I may have left it in the nursery."

Lois was very proud of the fact that she caught herself in mid-stumble. "Go ahead and have a look then. We haven't really changed... I mean, not that we aren't going to... We just didn't know how..." Realising how she sounded, she shut up. There was meat to be shelved in the freezer.

Martha gently placed her hands on Lois' shoulders. "After Jonathan died, I couldn't look at his side of the bed for months. I did everything short of putting up a sheet to avoid looking at it."

She gave her head a little shake. "I can go in. I just haven't had reason to."

"Come here then. Hold my hand and we'll go together."

A shudder went down Lois' spine. "O-okay, let me just... um, I think I need to go to the bathroom and, um..."

"Lois, it's okay if you can't go in the nursery yet. It's only been two weeks."

"I can go!" Lois snapped. She took a deep breath and accepted Martha's hand. They made it all the way down the hall before her breathing quickened. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her feet refused to go any further. "Clark goes in there a lot," she whispered. "I don't know how he can stand it. I can't even look at the door too long."

Martha rubbed her back, staying silent.

"I hate being at home because it means I have to pass by his room. We're making plans for another baby but in my head, it's still _his_ room."

They stood outside the closed door for a few minutes before Martha squeezed Lois' shoulders. "I'm going to go in there and look for my glasses. If you can't, just stay out here, okay?"

At that moment, Lois hated herself. She hated the sick feeling in her stomach. She hated how she couldn't quite let go of Martha's hand. How she couldn't even look at the emptiness of the nursery without having to hold on to the wall to steady her trembling legs. How, despite all the lies she would continue to tell herself, she _wasn't_ fine and she doubted she'd ever really _be_ fine ever again.

Martha pressed a mug of something herbal into her hands. Lois blinked down at it; she hadn't even noticed her mother-in-law leaving the room.

"Clark thinks I'm okay now," she said.

Smiling kindly, Martha said, "Do you really believe that he believes you?"

Lois pouted. "He fakes it well enough. We're going to have a health team. He thinks-- _I_ think it'll be better that way. Lots of eyes, lots of brains." Her hands only shook for half a second as she sipped from the cup. "I hate this. I wish there was a quicker way for this whole process of--" She gulped down more of the drink. "And it just _never_ gets easier. No matter how many people you lose and how well you know your issues, you can't fast forward to the part where it stops being a knife twisting in your stomach and, instead, just kind of becomes this background ache with occasional, excruciating flare-ups."

"No, it doesn't get easier." Martha handed her a couple sheets of tissue paper.

"I mean, I can't even go in there!" She flung her arm out to gesture at the nursery door. "I need to get over this, Mom. I need to be okay again."

"Sweetie, you've experienced such a major loss. No one expects you to jump back from something like that."

"I expect it from myself."

"Why?"

"Because Clark needs me." If she thought she could have gotten away with it, Lois would have thrown the mug. In fact, she felt a tantrum was long overdue. "He's strong for the whole world. I'm strong for him. It's our thing. It's my... no one else can do that for him. He needs me to be one hundred percent for him to be able to do all his stuff and if _he_ knows that I don't have it all together, it's one more thing that he has to pile on his shoulders."

Was that a smirk on Martha Kent's face? "Lois, he'd put it on his shoulders anyway."

"I _know!_ the ass." But she was starting to smile, too.

* * *

"Smallville, will you just sit? Geez, you'd think we were planning a wedding."

Clark tossed a half-hearted glare at Lois. "I'm getting second thoughts."

"Of course you are. You're you. If someone gives away your secret identity, you'd have angst about the morality of erasing their memory or hiring an assassin."

"Whereas you wouldn't?"

Lois tapped lower lip. "Well, I guess I'd kind of feel bad if it was the JL medic. It can't be easy to find doctors willing to work at the Watchtower."

Not surprisingly, when Lois approached him with the idea of having a health team, he resisted. Bad enough Chapel and all the STAR Labs were witnesses to his failure as a father. Now his JL troop would, too? But the years had mellowed him somewhat and if Clark still moved heaven and hell to get what her wanted, at least these days, he willingly admitted he couldn't do everything himself.

Unsurprisingly, Lois now sat, on an oversized old couch in Ollie's Cape Cod cabin, iced tea in hand, waiting for the health team while Clark paced.

"I'm glad we didn't bring Conner," he said.

"Like they wouldn't be able to connect the dots once they google our names? Chloe's death was kind of a huge deal."

"I know, but they wouldn't have a true visual--" Clark tilted his head to one side. "They're here."

"Smallville, are you sweating?"

He didn't answer. The doorknob was already turning. Every cell in Clark's body screamed for him to pick Lois up and hide. Instead, he forced himself to sit on the couch beside her and oh-so-casually sling an arm around her shoulders. She rubbed his leg. _Everything's going to be fine_ was her message.

Ollie entered first, followed by Pieter Cross in his dark glasses then Beth Chapel with her white cane and finally Etta Khang. Diana brought up the rear. Clark heard Lois' heart speed up the slightest bit. Now it was his turn to comfort her. He stroked her ear with his thumb.

"Welcome everybody," said Ollie. "Make yourselves comfortable while Diana and I pretend we know how to make tea and set out cookies."

Seeing Lois, Diana halted in mid-step. "_She_ is your wife, Kal-el? She is a reporter."

"So am I," said Clark.

"Where is the rest of your disguise?"

"This is it" Clark spread his arms. "Hiding in plaid sight."

The Amazon shook her head. "I do not believe it."

"You should see him in full Clark-mode," said Lois. "It's a pretty scary transformation: Attack of the Dorks."

After the awkwardness of introductions ("You needed a second and third opinion?") and institution of secret identity rules ("Speak it and we cut you." "Lois!" "Kindly."), the three doctors opened Lois' health case. They bonded better through medicalese.

"I'm no immunology expert but these labs look like acute tissue rejection," said Pieter.

"It makes sense," Chapel said. "Human fetal tissues have a multitude of inhibitory mechanisms that have evolved in response to the maternal immune system. Our interventions strengthened the fetus but, as a consequence, it may have triggered an acute response."

"My body's attacking my baby?" Lois translated.

"It happens with all human pregnancies; hell, all mammalian ones," Etta hurried to assure her. "No one really knows how the mom's body keeps from rejecting every fetus. There are a handful of viable theories mostly to do with something in the fetal cells that inhibit the maternal immune system or render it invisible."

"Look at pregnancy as an organ transplant except with built-in immunosuppressants," Pieter simplified. "Kal's-- Clark's-- unique genetic contribution means we're dealing with xenografts not allografts; a cross-species transplant not a cross-human."

"Are we actually contemplating medical immunosuppression?" asked Chapel.

"I don't think we should dismiss the possibility."

Clark sank into the couch. He thought having more doctors would increase his confidence in Lois' safety. Instead, their combined knowledge increased the possible complications. He searched for Lois' hand and, finding it, traced the pattern on her Kawatche bracelet. No matter what, her health came first. He only hoped she would agree. "Won't those drugs make her more vulnerable to illness?"

"Yes, of course," said Pieter. "If-- and this is still a big 'if,' folks-- we prescribe immunosuppressants, you'll have to be vigilant about keeping clean. You may even have to avoid large crowded areas like malls and public transit. Sure, you may only catch the flu but if your body's fighting responses are reduced, the symptoms of the illness will be stronger and last longer. A flu can easily turn into pneumonia."

Just as all the blood left Clark's head, Chapel added, "Should we go that route, I'm opposed to prescribing transplant-level immunosuppression therapy. Too much medication and Lois won't be able to make antibodies to pass to the child. For all we know, those will be vital to the child's health once it's out into the world. We don't want to chance any congenital immunodeficiency disorders."

"I think we should've skipped this part and just let them talk amongst themselves," Clark whispered to Lois.

"Speak for yourself, Smallville. I like the info-dump." Lois patted his leg but kept her attention on the doctors.

Ollie and Diana re-entered with food as promised: a tray overflowing with assorted finger food, another with sliced fruit, and several carafes of hot drinks. Clark smiled at Diana as they both filled their plates. "Thanks again for contacting Etta."

"Think nothing of it, Kal-el. I only repay the kindness you showed me when I was new come to this world," said Diana. To his surprise, she then took her plate to Lois who was still rapt by the doctors' conversation. "This is quince and pomegranate tart," she said. "They are both foods of fertility. These mezedes have figs and onions which are also Hera's."

Lois politely took a slice of bread. "And the dip?"

"Oh that." Diana coughed. "I confess disliking what you call Greek salads but Etta loves it and makes the dish by the bucketful. We never finish it and she hates waste so she turns the leftovers into dip. It is more edible than the salad."

"Um. Thanks." Lois took a bite. "Hey, not half bad."

"Etta suggested I dabble in hobbies that do not relate to fighting or diplomacy. She likes cooking and so I attempt it." Diana made a face.

Lois beamed. "Hey, welcome to the club, sister. I burn water."

"Several times," said Clark.

"So I bet you're a fighting geek, right? Your hobby is learning more fighting skills or driving a plane?"

Shaking her head, Diana said, "Actually, I enjoy clothes-shopping."

Clark laughed out-loud at Lois' expression.

* * *

A month into his evaluation period, Conner still couldn't attend most of the YJ's heavy contact missions. Instead, he helped out with both the League and YJ for the soft stuff-- clean up, missing persons and the like. Today, they were back in Krysybestan to bury the final pod. With him were Grace and Barda as his fellow heavy-lifters as well as Impulse. Where Barda went so did Prince Free who had taken the name, Scott Free, as a pun on his ability to escape from almost any holding cell or restraining device. Conner really wasn't sure why Impulse was there but any mission with Bart was a party even when he ordered them around.

"Nice job making a big damn hole" said Impulse. "High fives all around!"

"Like you did anything while we spent the whole weekend digging a twenty-mile hole," Grace muttered.

"Hey, supervising you big lugs is hard work. And it's not twenty miles, only ten. Now let's pour in concrete for that first half mile at the bottom of the pod--"

"Let's?" Grace repeated.

Impulse put his hands on his hips. "Superman never gets this kind of insubordination."

"Superman didn't sing Besa Me Mucho in the last company party. Badly."

"So if I sang it well--"

Barda threw a boulder into the pit. "Will we bury this pod or talk the rest of the day?"

"Talk," said Conner. "Those two love to bait each other."

Scott Free nudged his wife. "They are comrades-in-arms, my love. They fight and play with equal strength."

"A strange custom but one which I will learn for the sake of our new home," Barda said grudgingly. "I will research jokes and puns to insert into casual conversation."

"I'm _awesome_ at jokes," said Conner. Helpfulness in all its aspects had to count towards his evaluation, right?

"Then I shall expect training from you as soon as possible."

"Okay people! Back to work!" Impulse clapped his hands. "This hole has to have a one mile perimeter surrounding it with packed rock-fill held in place by poured concrete. Over that, we've got to put in another mile of concrete, two miles of steel and another half a mile of concrete before we top off with soil, grass and all that other stuff. The weekend is only half over."

Digging. Conner was digging for Batman. This was so ninja.

* * *

_Pieter Cross, known in DCU as Dr. Mid-Nite, is played by Daniel Dae Kim. Cross, the third Dr. Mid-Nite, can only see in pitch-black and so has special black-out glasses. Beth Chapel was the second Dr. Mid-Nite but for the sake of variety, I changed her powers slightly.  
Greek dishes are from __Kalofagas by Peter Minakis._


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

At Etta and Pieter's insistence, Lois didn't undergo her third IVF until July, four months after Gabriel's death. Within three weeks, Etta confirmed S.T.A.R.'s positive results. Lois was surprised at how much she liked Diana Prince's wife.

"I've never seen such a good track record for implantation," said Etta. "Despite the advances in assisted reproductive technology, most couples undergo several procedures before an egg implants. Yours hits the bulleye at every try."

"Never underestimate the power of Lane-determination and Kent's super-swimmers," said Lois. "Of course, I could do without throwing up every morning then sleeping away the afternoon."

"Whatever it is you're doing, keep doing it. I'm also going to prescribe a high carbohydrate, extra-high protein diet. Like we said in the last meeting, maybe the baby couldn't absorb enough nutrients from your blood alone and so the placenta widened in response; the bigger the placenta, the more blood flow," said Etta. "Hopefully, if you have high protein content in your body, we can discourage the same thing from happening."

"So you're saying I have to eat juicy hamburgers, steaks dripping with gravy and complex carbohydrates all the time for my own good?" said Lois.

Etta grinned. "Uh-huh. You love me, don't you?"

"I take back every bad thing I've ever said about Diana. She has excellent taste and married a very smart woman."

"I know but try reminding her of that." Etta rolled her eyes. "I don't know if I should blame her chronic slobbiness on her royal upbringing or hanging around a bunch of men, most of whom are either divorced or never married."

Lois gasped. "You too? Clark's the exact same and don't even get me started on Conner. I think it's because they've got the speed. It only takes them five seconds to clean up so they think it's perfectly all right to shed all over the condo. No joke, I found a two ties and a gym sock in the pantry. That can't be Food Safe."

"Girl, you ever woken up in the middle of the night and stubbed your toe on a bronze epaulette? I broke three toes and she _still_ doesn't pick up after herself. And at least yours cook."

"True enough," said Lois. "We need a support group."

"Can we have pins?"

"And martinis." Scrunching her face up, Lois amended, "Virgin martinis."

"Make it extra-dry for me and I am there." Etta pulled two lollipops out from the treats jar. Giving one to Lois, she unwrapped hers and popped it in her mouth. "Do you think Sue Dibny has marital woes?"

"Pfft, Ralph probably irons her underwear and sprinkles it with vanilla water or something equally saccharine yet domestic. She's not invited to our club."

"Yeah, someone that put together doesn't need a support group."

"Whereas we, who suffer numerous trials and tribulations, do."

"Honey, you want tribulations? Try being a Asian military nurse so pudgy your callsign was Etta Candy."

Lois pursed her lips. "Hmm. Point. You win." She popped the candy in her mouth. A burst of intensely satisfying flavour burst on her tongue. Her lollipop was green apple flavoured and no apple taste-- real or artificial-- had ever tasted so completely complex and whole. She half-moaned in appreciation. "Where did you get these? They're fantastic!"

Etta stared at her. "They're normal bulk suckers."

"They can't be. It tastes too good to be cheap candy."

"I think you're going through a hormone rush," said Etta. "Some women get morning sickness all day long. Some retain water. And some become hypersensitive to any of the five senses."

Lois took another lick of the lollipop. "If everyday food tastes like this for the next nine months, it'll more than make up for the morning sickness."

"So they say. Really though, how are you doing?" At Lois' arched eyebrow, Etta said, "Former military nurse, remember? I know the signs of repression. Have you gone to see someone for grief counselling?"

"I'm dealing with it fine. This is hardly the first time I've lost someone. My denial phase is nonexistent. I've done the anger several times often segueing into the depression phase; that used to involve alcohol but I'm on ice cream and Jell-o pudding now. I figure I'll hit a few more anger jags, bargain something inconsequential like my addiction to chocolates and, wham! I'm in acceptance by the time this baby comes."

Etta looked unconvinced. "Want to see something?" She pulled up to blouse and pushed down her pants, revealing a short, uneven scar four o'clock of her navel. "This was a souvenir from my second tour. A strategic attack on the base blew a comm-pole through here and out the kidney. It completely wrecked my uterus, of course. The irony of a maternity nurse being barren was not lost on me."

Lois' eyes went glassy. "Mine's bigger."

"Mine's uglier."

"What can I say? You win again."

Etta patted her hand. "Talk to someone. Hell, talk to me. That support group can extend to childlessness woes."

Five years ago, if someone had told Lois her best girl friend would be Wonder Woman's wife, she would have laughed them out of the continent. But there she was, one part acridity to one part motherly and everything Lois had missed since Chloe disappeared from her life. Lois began to feel as if this time, this pregnancy would turn out all right. That night, she was able to open the nursery door herself.

* * *

At the same time in the Watchtower, it was another Friday and another monthly meeting. Clark tapped his fingers on his lap, waiting for it to end.

"And so on Scott and Barda's recommendation, we buried The Ultimate's pod ten miles underground," Ollie said. "Hopefully, this will contain The Ultimate until such a time when we can figure out how to remove him from the planet."

Ted Kord raised his hand. "Any ideas why they were all sent here?"

In reply, Ollie turned to Barda and Scott Free. Scott bowed slightly before answering. "Barda and I have long discussed this. I was leader of the rebellion, Barda, my general. She, I and the Ultimate are possibly the only people capable of removing Darkseid from his throne. Perhaps he has banished us to protect his reign."

"Great, so we're his dumping ground, no offence to you two," Ted quickly amended.

Clark spoke up. "Maybe when we find a way to return you to your planet, we can shoot The Ultimate off in another direction using the same technology."

"One can hope," said Barda.

"Why would you want to go back?" Ted asked. "From what you tell me, it's a twenty-four-seven war on Apokalips."

"While we are here, more Lowlies are crushed underfoot. I cannot leave them to that fate," said Scott.

Ollie rapped the table. "Well said. We also have to thank Scott and Barda for partially solving the planet's landfill problem. We melted down almost all the wrecked cars in North America to fill that hole."

"Superman slept for a week," Conner added, nudging his dad's side.

"Let the secretary note this for the record: For finally forcing Superman to sleep, Scott and Barda get a medal," said Ollie.

The group burst into laughter. The meeting adjourned on a high note. Clark grabbed Conner by the collar before he could disappear with YJ. Conner's eyebrows rose. _What is it?"_ his expression asked.

He lifted his chin in the direction of an ante-chamber. _Let's talk in private,_ was his nonverbal reply. Immediately, he heard Conner's heart speed up. When Clark shut the door, the tempo went through the roof.

"Before you say anything, I want to tell you that even if I don't train with the Bat this year, I'm going to try again next year. I totally took everyone's suggestions and applied them the best I could and sure, maybe I wasn't perfect at everything but no one's perfect at everything. I think the fact that I tried my best should count for something." Conner crossed his arms and spread his legs slightly in a defensive stance.

"Actually, the fact that you tried your hardest only counts if your hardest passes the minimum requirements. Which it did." Clark smiled as Conner shot out of his slump into a leaping, hooting mess.

"You mean it? Really? _Really?_ Even with that A- in Asian History?"

"Arsenal's glowing review of your comportment during the Mississippi flooding cancelled the minus sign," said Clark. "Batman himself said you're doing well."

"_Batman_ said that?" Conner was star-struck.

"Well, his actual words were 'He could be worse' which Nightwing assures me is high praise. It must be true because he told me you could start training next week." The part he hated was coming up. "However, Batman also insisted on your full time and attention for your training, meaning he wants you to live with him for a year."

Conner went nuts with joy. "Dad, you are _awesome_! You're better than awesome; you're a gazillion awesomes compressed into an atom of awesome to make a blackhole of awesome that sucks all the awesome of the universe into itself to become the epicentre of universal awesome!"

"If I'd known leaving home would make you this happy, I'd've kicked you out sooner," said Clark, joking to hide the genuine sting at his son's excitement.

It worked. Conner squeezed him, still laughing, and asked, "What should I pack? Is it like ninja-- bring nothing but the clothes on your back?"

"He didn't specify. I assume it's something slightly more than ninja but slightly less than the Hilton."

"This rocks so damn hard." Conner whooped again and this time, his jump stayed in mid-air for a full minute. "I've got to tell Robbie. Thanks again, Dad! Training with _Batman_! That's so friggin' badass. Hey Robbie!" he hollered as he ran down the hall.

Ollie wandered into the room. "You told him?"

"Yeah."

"You know, he isn't going to be easy on him just because he's your son."

"Why does everyone say that? I don't expect anyone to treat Conn any differently; I actually appreciate how everyone makes him feel like any other person."

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this but everyone, even the long-timers, can't help but be awed by you. Not me, of course. It's kind of hard to see you as an all-powerful symbol of morality and goodness when I've seen you in plaid and overalls, mucking horse shit."

Clark's blush faded. He stifled the urge to snatch at his hair. "Even so, why is _he_ the badass?"

"It's the car."

"I have a vintage Harley."

"Maybe it's the batarangs, too."

Clark huffed. "That's a stupid name. They're not even like boomerangs; they're more like throwing stars. Throwing _bats_, for Pete's sake. He throws little logos around. He might as well throw Nike swooshes or Ralph Lauren polo players on horseback."

Ollie couldn't stop grinning. "Are you jealous of Batman?"

"No." He crossed his arms. "I just can't see the appeal of dressing up as a giant flying rodent with matching accoutrements."

"You're jealous of Batman. Man, wait 'til I tell the rest of the guys. Hey, Bart, guess what?" Sniggering, Ollie left the room to flag the speedster down.

* * *

For the sake of leaving a paper trail, Bruce Wayne (Conner still couldn't believe the most infamous socialite airhead was the goddamn Batman!) sent Ellsworth High School a scholarship package for Conner from Wayne Enterprises. The package came with an urgent query on the lack of response from Ellsworth when they had sent the initial email and hardcopy two months ago. In the ensuing scramble for paperwork, Batman's computer-whiz, Oracle, hacked into the school district database for Metropolis and Gotham, leaving "evidence" of inter-district communication for the past three months. In the end, one Conner Kent officially enrolled at Brentwood Academy for the 2025-2026 school year.

Conner celebrated moving-out day by preparing a five-course meal for Lois, Clark and Martha made almost entirely from scratch. His only cheat was the bread for his bread pudding. While marinated ribs grilled on the barbeque, he served up spinach and squash soup and a salad of field greens, papaya, avocado and dried cranberries. With the ribs, he made roasted parsnips and carrots and corn-on-the-cob. By the time the bread pudding came out, everyone had to walk around for a while to make room.

"You can't cook like this and move away," said Lois. "Your dad and I can't go back to ordering take-out. You've spoiled us for life!"

Unable to hide his pleasure at the words, Conner said, "Grandma's going to live here, right? And I'll visit on the weekends."

"Make sure you do," said Clark. "I don't want you absorbing too much Bat-ness."

"Da-ad!"

"Why is it that all billionaires name their houses after themselves? Queen Towers. Wayne Manor. You don't see us calling it the Lane-Kent Floor."

"_Dad,_ stop! Promise me you won't say things like that when we're actually in Gotham."

"I'm just making an observation. Mom, Lois, back me up."

To Conner's relief, the women in his family didn't contribute to the embarrassing conversation. "I doubt Bruce Wayne came up with the idea of naming his house any more than your father had a hand in naming the farm," Martha said. Yet another reason why his grandma was so cool.

At the crack of dawn the next morning, Martha prepared breakfast as Lois, Clark and Conner packed two suitcases and three boxes into the back of the family hatchback and made for Metropolis Downtown Airport. The flight to Gotham, New Jersey was two hours. An old gentleman-- really, Conner knew no other words to describe him-- led them to a shiny black Roll's Royce.

"I hope your trip was not too tedious," said the gentleman, who had introduced himself as Alfred.

"It was great!" Clark said. "Business class really treats you well, huh?"

Alfred sighed. "Had Master Bruce given me adequate time to prepare, I could have sent the jet. Airport line-ups and rude co-passengers do make a trip rather tiring especially for someone in your condition, Ms. Lane."

_A jet?_ Conner mouthed. To his disgust, his dad rolled his eyes. At least Aunt Lo winked.

Wayne Manor rose majestically behind the thin veil of Gotham smog. Fittingly gothic in architecture, it resembled Gotham City Proper in the same way of grandparents and grandchildren. The manor had the same intricate statuary and neo-deco flares as the buildings downtown but in stone and glass instead of acrylic and steel. The grounds had to be at least as extensive as the Kent Farm at its height, before Martha sold off acres to neighbours and Metropolis U.

"The Wayne Estate has some of the oldest forests existing on the east coast," Alfred narrated as they drove through the winding driveway. "They aren't first growth, by any means, but some trees do date back to the late nineteenth century. Universities regularly request permission to do research in the forests."

"About?" asked Lois.

"All sorts of topics, Ms. Lane. Ecology, botany, agricultural-history."

"Dude." Conner pressed his face up to the glass.

At the same time that the Rolls cleared the wooded area, a huge black horse burst through the forests. Its rider, also in black, leaned low over the horse's neck, his body nearly indistinguishable from the animal.

"There's Master Bruce now," said Alfred. "I daresay he'll try to beat us to the Manor."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Clark grumbled, causing Lois to chuckle. "He's riding a black horse across what are effectively moors. What the heck?"

"Smallville, you're hot when you're jealous," said Lois.

"I'm _not_ jealous! Why does everyone say that?"

As Alfred predicted, Bruce waited for them at the top of the entrance way, one fist on his hip, one leg propped on a low stone hedge. Conner really had to stare to find Batman under that perfectly white smile and the vacant amber eyes. He knew how his dad turned into Metropolis-Clark-- he slouched, never made eye-contact and wore clothes two sizes too big, always fading into the background. Bruce seemed to want the opposite. With his blinding smile, flashy clothes and twitchy gesticulations, Bruce Wayne begged for attention even at the advanced age of forty-seven.

"Conner!" Bruce spread his arms wide and engulfed Conner in an embrace. "You have no idea how pleased I am you accepted my offer to stay in the manor during your scholarship. We'll have fun, partying up the town, eh, chum? Whoops, forget you heard that, Mr and Mrs. Kent." He beamed and winked. Conner thought he saw his dad flinch.

"Ms Lane," Lois corrected automatically.

"Whoops! Sorry. Mr and Mrs Lane."

"No, she's Ms. Lane and I'm Mr. Kent," said Clark.

Bruce looked perturbed. "What if I just call you Louise and Clyde?"

"Lois and Clark."

"That's what I said! Alfred, their luggage. I have the perfect room set up for you already. It's fully decked with a sixty-inch TV, speakers built into the walls and access to the central harddrive for computer access. Did I tell you about the satellite dishes? It gets everything, if you know what I mean. Whoops! Forget you heard that again, Lisa and Claude!"

Conner sniggered. Okay, the dude even played the airhead well. As soon as the manor doors closed, however, Bruce transformed. "Your schedule is in your room. I expect you to follow it explicitly. If you manage to keep up with summer training, you may survive the school year."

"That's enough, Bruce," Clark started to say but Conner interrupted before he could ruin everything.

"Yessir! Do we start tonight?"

Bruce turned around slowly. It may have been a trick of the light, but Conner swore his eyes flashed. "You're eager."

Conner nodded.

"You won't be." He turned his back to them once more and headed at a clipping pace down a darkened hallway. Over his shoulder, he said, "Alfred will show you to your room. There are books there. I'll quiz you after dinner."

Wow. That was so kung fu. Training with him was going to be so cool.

* * *

Training with Batman was so uncool. Conner rolled his neck. After eight days of living in Gotham, he regrettably understood the phrase "kink in the neck" at last. His felt bent in three places. Who knew Batman read all his training logs? He knew how to distract Conner so his E-field weakened during attacks. And the guy never let up with the criticism!

"You project your hits. No doubt your father never taught you subtlety."

"Stop using your powers as a crutch."

"Congratulations, you memorised those books. Do you actually understand them?"

"Rookie mistake, Superboy. All your mistakes are rookie."

Conner could frickin' twist his neck. But if he did, his dad would be disappointed, Aunt Lo would scream and Tim would probably feel obligated to avenge his death. Or become Batman. Neither option was healthy.

The icing on the rotten cake was Brentwood Academy for Boys. Meaning no girls. Located in Bristol between the Palisades and Gotham Heights, it was five whole miles away from any female life like Little Flower All-Girl's Prep or South Gotham Heights Secondary. Sure Tim went to the same school and even had a lot of the same classes but it was all boys. Conner liked to mess around with guys but he preferred girls. A lot. Between the scholarship program in Brentwood and the Little Batcave of Horrors, he had zero time to go out.

After begging for this for so long, he couldn't just quit. He was supposed to be the new, improved, mature Conner Kent. When he felt like throwing the Batmobile down the cave trough with Batman still in it, he remembered his weekend visits to Metropolis. Aunt Lo, sick as a dog half the time carrying the baby and his dad sleeping an hour a night to cover all of Superman's shifts, Clark Kent's office hours and caring for Lois.

Conner gritted his teeth. He had to get better. He had to be the best.

Bruce met him in the training gym with a smirk threatening crack his face. "Tonight, we're covering juijitsu."

"Okay." Conner bowed and took position. He was cool with martial arts. It took a while for Bruce to wear down his guard.

Then Bruce flipped his cape back. A ring on his hand faintly glowed green.

Oh shit.

* * *

Four weeks into this pregnancy, Lois' morning sickness began, spanning from breakfast to lunch. Coincidentally (or not), Martha showed up that night with two suitcases and a box of produce. She would stay at the condo, she announced, and take care of everyone until the baby arrived. Maybe even afterward. After a token protest each, Clark and Lois cheerfully accepted her help. Soon, the smells of home-cooking and the buzz of Martha's old-fashioned cell-phone imbued the condo with a touch of Smallville, bringing back pleasant memories of high school when they all lived together on the farm.

On Week Ten, Chapel took a blood test; found Lois severely anaemic and prescribed even higher doses of iron, folic acid supplements and B-12 injections. She was not impressed with the injections. Etta told her to eat more berries and dark, leafy vegetables and nap as often as she needed to, preferably in the sun. Lois was not impressed with kale.

The absolute limit, however, was when Chapel re-recommended a cease-and-desist on sex. For the past month, Lois had been too sick to muster anything more energetic than heavy make-out sessions on the couch. Her most favourite part about past pregnancies had been the hormones. Supersex was so much better when she could keep up with her hubby.

"Please tell me you're kidding," Lois said.

"Considering how high-risk your pregnancies have been, I'd prefer to err on the side if caution," said Chapel.

"No offence, doc, but I'm going to get a second opinion."

So Lois went to Etta who agreed. Then to Pieter who also agreed, albeit with a blush. Lois Lane was _very_ unimpressed with the whole damn world.

At Week Sixteen, anxious despite her best efforts, she fainted on the way from her office to Perry's. Clark caught her as the rest of her team, already wise to her condition, jumped to help. Ron ran to the kitchen for ice water, Anna set up the small futon in the office and Satpal speed-dialled Etta, leaving Perry with nothing to do but vent his fear by hollering: "What is that damn fool doing at work? She's got a year's worth of sick leave; she should take it!"

Lois came to as Clark lifted her. "Please tell me I didn't faint."

"You didn't faint," he said. "You very suddenly felt sleepy."

To prove his excuse, she yawned. "Argh! I'm already napping all the time. If I go home, it'll be my fifth sick day in a row. I never get sick days."

"You've never not-fainted at work," Clark said. He laid her on the futon. Ron handed the water over and excused everyone else, shutting the door behind him. "I could act as your assistant. I'm sure I can get an extension for my manuscript."

"What about the second job?"

Clark frowned. "The original plan was to have Conner taking over when you're at six months. I can see if we can move it up a little."

"I still can't believe you let him train with the Grim and Grumpy for a year. He even _lives_ with him; he'll probably come back listening to screamo music and carving crap like 'Death, you are my bitch lover' on his arm."

"Conner writing. Huh."

Lois punched his arm. "Hey, Smallville, guess what I realised."

"What?"

"This is the third time your turkey-baster's knocked me up and you still haven't married me. At least not Earth-legal." She jiggled her Kawatche bracelet.

With a long-suffering sigh, he said, "I've asked you to marry me. I asked several times early in our relationship but after five years of no response, I gave up. We're registered common-law anyway."

Acting affronted, she said, "So that's it? Common-law is good enough for you?"

"Well, you'd be horrific in a bridal gown shop. Nothing would satisfy you. You'd probably make everyone cry and we'll have to travel to Gotham or L.A. where your reputation hasn't preceded you to find a dress. Then there's the cake, the bouquet, the cars..."

She punched him again. "Well, if you aren't going to propose, I am."

"Aren't you supposed to be on one knee?" Lois rolled off the futon. Clark's eyes widened. "Wait. Hang on. Really?"

When she kneeled, they were almost eye to eye. "Yes, really. Clark Jerome Kent, I love you to bits and pieces. Will you marry me?"

In response, Clark stood, pulled her up and ran out of her office, towards the elevators.

"Where the hell do you think you two are going?" Perry yelled.

"She proposed to me, Chief," Clark called out. "I'm taking her to the courthouse before she changes her mind."

Anna, Ron and Satpal's standing ovation heralded the elevator. "Catch them before eleven if you don't want to wait through lunch," was Ron's advice.

"My dress!" Lois protested. "You promised I could be horribly bitchy about finding a dress. We can probably write a story about the manipulation inherent in the wedding industry, allowing exorbitant prices for--"

Clark leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. "You're beautiful. Right now. Every day."

Lois went up on tip-toe to kiss him. The elevator ride was too short.

"We've been together so long a wedding really shouldn't matter. Why now?" Clark asked as they exited the building.

Almost shyly, she pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach. "I want to do it when we're all here."

"Oh Lois." He covered her hand with his own. "We'll all be here; I know it. We can wait until the baby's born."

"But how do you--"

"I know. I'm so sure, I'm willing to postpone the wedding until after the baby's born. He can be the ring bearer."

"Or she'll be the flowergirl."

He smiled and nodded. "Or she could be the flowergirl. I don't care, you know that. Boy or girl, as long as you're both healthy, I'm happy."

"I know." That let to another extended kiss. When, flushed, they separated, Lois said, "Let's go back inside before they follow us to the courtroom."

Mischievousness settled over Clark's face. "Let's go somewhere they can't follow us. I hear Oahu's great this time of the year."

* * *

In less than an hour, Conner would arrive for the League meeting with Robin and Batman. Clark quick-stepped down the halls, his mind occupied by his announcement. Public speaking still discomfited Clark, no matter that most of the people in the meeting knew him personally now. News like this would spread quickly through the very short grapevine.

As he passed medbay, Pieter poked his head out the doors. "Do you have a minute, Kal-el?" Clark opened to mouth to make his excuses but Pieter added, "It concerns the topic of your announcement."

His heart thudded. Quickly, he entered the medbay and closed the door firmly. "Did someone call you? Is everyone okay?"

Pieter looked surprised then sheepish. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-- It's not an emergency. I just need an update on your physical health for my records and I thought I'd flag you down while I had a chance."

"My health?"

"Observing kryptonian physiology systemically and microscopically can help us help the baby," Pieter said. "I want to duplicate some of S.T.A.R. Labs' findings on the effect of childhood diseases on kryptonian systems. Consider me your redundancy tester."

"Oh. Um. All right. Do you need blood?" Clark mentally calculated the time required to draw his blood. It was an involved process requiring incremental kryptonite exposure and diamond-tipped needles.

Pieter shook his head. "Maybe later, swabs should be all right for now. I understand you have quite prominent lymph nodes in your mouth."

Clark opened his mouth and lifted his tongue. He recognised the fascinated delight on Pieter's face; no researcher he'd met so far could disguise their delight at his xenobiology, marvelling in the parallel evolution between Krypton and Earth that resulted in superficially similar species.

"This is enough. I'd like to take a blood sample from you and Kon-el but that can wait."

"Half that time is me gathering the nerve to let kryptonite near my system," Clark joked. "Kon just dives in there."

Pieter's awed expression reverted to a more open one. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"You're my doctor; it's your job to ask personal questions."

The doctor gestured to a stool, taking one for himself and fiddling with his pen as he shifted to a comfortable position. "My parents adopted me when I was eighteen months," he began slowly. Shaking his head, he stared at the ceiling. "Give me a second. I'm not really sure how to phrase this."

"Take your time," said Clark.

Pieter twirled his pen for a few more seconds before speaking. "I guess what I'm getting at is I understand why this child and Kon are so important to you. I don't remember anything about my life before my parents adopted my older brother and me. They're great parents; they tried to teach us as much about our heritage as they could. But there's always that weird pause when you realise you don't quite fit the mould."

Nodding, Clark said, "You feel like something's missing."

"Exactly. A lot of adoptees see their own children as a way of filling that missing piece. They may not know their roots but through their children, they'll retroactively gain roots. It's very common and normal to feel this way. There are a lot of support groups for adopting parents and adoptees themselves but, understandably--" here the doctor smiled wryly-- "you probably didn't have much exposure to them."

"I think I did when I was really little. I remember having a special playgroup called Chosen Children," said Clark. "I didn't last long; I'm guessing something 'special' came up."

"There are actually a few of us, adoptees and adopters, in the League but I know you value your privacy so that may not be an option for you. Should you need me, I'm very open to questions outside of the medical-surgical."

Swallowing down the tightness in his throat, Clark said, "You've already done so much for us. I don't want to impose."

"Etta's probably saying the same thing to Lois," Pieter assured him. "We talked it over the other day. Her training involves a lot more interdisciplinary involvement; my personal experience inclines me towards the same. And, let's face it, everyone in this place could use a shrink."

Clark let out a laugh. After promising to contact Pieter or Etta at least once a month, he headed for the hangar, arriving there just as the Batwing landed. Conner jumped out before it even landed, his grin wide and infectious. "It's a relief to know after three months with Batman, you can still smile."

"I can be serious." Conner schooled his face into a blank mask. It lasted for all of four seconds.

"Good thing a north wind didn't blow or your face would have frozen." Clark leaned down to whisper, "I have it on good authority that his face is like that because of all the bat guano on the floor of the Cave."

"Dad!" Shaking his head, both embarrassed and amused, Conner headed for the entrance with Robin at his side.

As Batman passed by, he said, "I heard that, alien."

"I know you did, Grim-- Batman." Clark held a hand out, blocking Batman's way. "Thanks again for agreeing to train him as well as coming for this meeting. My announcement will probably require reshuffling of duties and as Conn's mentor, you'll have to make a even more of a contribution than you're used to."

"You knew this would happen."

Clark didn't reply.

"Occasionally, you're almost smarter than you look which isn't saying much."

Clark felt the intense need to key the Batwing.

"Regretting your invitation to train him yet?"

"Ask me again when Conner finally gets bored," Clark shot back. "I give it another month. Do you have expensive, breakable heirlooms in your house?"

A minute pause interrupted the smoothness of Batman's stride. Clark passed him, mentally tallying: Superman = 1, Batman = 1 and the meeting hadn't even started.

Only the members present in the Watchtower came, leaving half the chairs empty. Ollie slid one seat away, yanking Conner between himself and Clark. The rest of the members spread around the oblong table with the exception of J'Onn who stayed on monitor duty.

"What's up, Supes?" asked Dinah. "You look like you're about to announce the death of Santa Claus."

He smiled tightly, took a deep breath, then tried for a more natural expression. "Nothing that serious. I just wanted to officially announce my semi-retirement."

Arsenal entered at that moment and tripped on the doorjamb.

Dinah cracked a laugh. "Oh, no, not at all serious. Just a founding member and one-person deployment team going part-time. What's really happening?" She looked to Ollie as well. Ollie shrugged and lifted his hands helplessly.

"My reasons are personal." That came out wrong, stiff and formal again. Clark tried again. "I want to spend more time with my family. My... my wife is pregnant and having a very hard time with it."

At the word "pregnant," the most of the members discretely and not-so-discretely peeked at Diana's abdomen, searching for a baby bump. Arsenal fell out of his seat.

Batman whirled around on his chair and glared at him. "Control yourself."

"Sorry! I just hear pregnant and Superman then my brain went to a weird place." Arsenal shuddered. "It's like learning your grandparents had sex."

"I hope you don't mind my calling you often," Clark told him. "You're more experienced with this whole baby business than I am."

"I... uh... well, sure I, guess." His ears blushed to match his hair.

Grace raised her hand. "We'll be out the equivalent of three members with you away. How are we going to arrange the schedules?"

"Superboy will share my calls. Batman has kindly agreed to give him further training on top of J'Onn's telepathic exercises. I'm very confident he'll be more than capable for the job." He placed a hand on Conner's shoulder. His son sent him a beaming sideways glance and for five whole seconds, he was cool in his teenager son's eyes. _Eat _that_, Batman._


	13. Chapter 13

The worst part about being mostly invulnerable was during those few times when Conner _could_ get hurt, the pain felt a frillion times worse. His nerve endings weren't used to the sensation. Kryptonite-enhanced hits still drove the breath out of him. He didn't know how he made it through the past the first month. Batman was never without the ring during sparring sessions.

As much as he worked his butt off in Gotham, he knew his aunt had it much worse back in home. Every time he called, she was either bent over a bowl barfing or doped out on painkillers. One weekend, he arrived home to find a full home-office set up in Lois' den. Perry had banned her from the office until she felt better; Lois had refused to stop working. Telecommuting was the compromise. He knew his dad tried not to worry him but bits of conversation from Clark and Martha all pointed to rough goings-on. The nail in the coffin was Week Twenty when his dad reduced his hours at the Daily Planet to two days in the office and two days telecommuting just so he could be with Lois even with Martha around.

"I'm surprised they've lasted this long," Conner told Tim. They were at Tim's house supposedly doing law homework. Christmas break started in ten days exactly.

"I thought you said they were nauseatingly in love, irony not intended," said Tim.

"Sure they are and you're my best bud but if I had to spend two-four-seven with you, I'd totally tear your head off," Conner said. "Everyone needs buffer space."

Tim wrinkled his nose. "I guess."

"Trust me, Baby Bat. My next call from home will be either Dad or Aunt Lo griping. Or Grandma confessing to justifiable homicide. Most likely Aunt Lo griping. She's twenty weeks now. It's kind of epic."

Tim quickly searched the web. "I'm not surprised she's cranky though. From what you told me, it's been hard."

Conner decided not to tell him about his birth mom carrying him for a whole year. "Back to more serious stuff: how could going out with Grace have a minus?"

Turning the page on his textbook, Tim said, "Too aggressive."

"I could be totally down with that. Rawr." Conner made a snarly face.

"Okay, ew."

"Plus: knowledgeable."

"Minus: will have to fight Arsenal for her. He'll get even more pissed off at me and that'll piss off the boss."

Conner shook off the bad mental image. "Your turn. What about Hawke, the Leaguer formerly known as Speedy?"

"Plus: nice hands."

"Plus: good with his hands."

Tim blushed. "Yes. Minus: having to deal with Ollie, AKA his dad, AKA the head of the League. I think Ollie wants the entire JL to be made up of his kids, adopted and biological."

"That's disturbing," said Conner. "Plus: may not be a big deal; it's not like Ollie's a priest."

"Unlike, say, the people who _raised_ Hawke."

That hadn't occurred to him. "Huh. Minus: may be a eunuch?"

"Or possible vows of chastity."

Conner stared at Tim blankly. "Sorry, what?"

"You know, where someone swears that they won't have sex?"

Blanching, Conner said, "But like... you can take care of yourself, right?"

"I've never looked into the specifics."

"Dude, I know some people are still in the V-Club due to circumstances-- no offence-- but to willingly _not_ have sex? That's like choosing no to eat!" Conner shuddered.

"It's called principles."

"I have principles!" said Conner, "I always use protection, I tell everyone I date about everyone else I date _and_ I always disclose when I'm going out with more than one person at the same time.

Sighing, Tim said, "Let's just... move on. We _do_ have to a chapter to read before tomorrow's quiz."

"We're good, don't worry. In the grand scheme of things, what's more important: finally getting you a date or a stupid law quiz?"

"Uh..."

"Exactly." Conner tapped at his keyboard. "I think we went through everyone eligible for you in the League besides me."

"We can't do you."

"Why not? Afraid of only coming up with pros?" He grinned, jostling Tim's arm.

His friend made a face. "Please."

"It's all a hypothetical exercise. Come on!"

"Fine. Minus: your dad."

"What? That's a plus! My dad would make an awesome dad-of-your-boyfriend."

"He can hear you having sex from the other side of the planet. It is a minus."

"Huh... point. But, plus: really hot and awesome sense of humour."

"Lame sense of humour. It's a minus."

"Plus: knowledgeable."

"Minus: Not monogamous."

"Unless you wanted monogamy."

"I would."

"Fine, then I'll only date you."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Oh, goody. My theoretical boyfriend will be monogamous with me."

"You're welcome. See? Totally romantic."

"Not sure if that outweighs the Superman minus."

Conner sighed. "Fine, fine, I make a sucky boyfriend. Yeeesh. Now I need pizza."

"Them's the breaks, Super Alien. Although when you finally control your E-field, the fine-motor manipulation could have a lot of applications. So you're not completely hopeless."

"But seeing as it's presently doing nothing but exploding things, it's still a minus. I'm going to need two pizzas."

"I think you'll figure it out. Think of kinky sex games as your incentive."

Laughing, Conner said, "Dude, I _knew_ there was a reason you're my best friend!"

Tim answered with his own grin. "Your turn. Except... We don't work with a lot of girls, do we?"

"Who said I only dated girls? I'm promiscuous, remember?"

"Oh."

"I like guys, too I just prefer girls. I think it's the breasts."

"Oh. Breasts."

"Yeah. They're... squishy." Conner cupped an imaginary pair in front of him.

"My current revulsion to what you're pantomiming has nothing to do with my sexual preference." Tim slapped his hands away. "What about Nightwing?"

Conner immediately said, "Is a Bat. Minus."

"Fair enough."

"But he's got the finest ass on God's green earth. Big plus."

"That's really is true which I say, even as a pseudo-brother," said Tim.

"I don't know if I lust after his ass or if I just want my ass to look the same. I mean, it's like totally the perfect ass."

"It really is. I know that _I'm_ jealous."

"Minus: has better ass than me," said Conner, with a touch of forlorn.

"Plus: He has a good sense of humour despite being a bat."

"True. He actually laughs are my jokes." Winking, Conner asked in half-seriousness. "Is Nightwing going out with anyone?"

Tim hid his face in his hands. "Let's move on, please."

"We've run out of people from the League," said Conner. "Anyone in school?"

"Our school?" He didn't look enthused.

"Dude, the whole point of this verbal exercise was to help you figure out who to make the first move to. I mean, it's so weird-- at work, you totally kick ass but at school, you disappear into the walls. How do you expect to get laid if you don't put your Robbie self out there?"

"I don't really do first moves that well. And neither does Robbie."

Very slowly, Conner said, "Yes. I know. That's why we're doing this. It's not a proposal, Timmy, it's just you saying 'Hi, Random Dude, do you want to catch a coffee?' Simple!"

"Can't I just admit that I am not as suave as you and move on?"

"No one can be as suave at me but, honestly dude, you're not that frickin' ugly. A slight tilt towards the dark side of the Bat but that's exactly why you need to go out and get laid. It's my duty as your friend to help you with that."

Tim gave him an impatient look. "Because that would work out so well. I can just see the conversation-- 'Hey, Tim? How come you can never do anything at night?'"

"It's just going to be the opposite of going out with YJ," Conner pointed out. "Hey, Robin, how come we never see your face outside the mask or hang out when you're not being Robin?"

"You mean except you."

"Well... yeah." A pause entered the conversation. Conner suddenly found the graph in his textbook extremely fascinating.

Well.

That just got weird.

"So, uh, what're you doing for Christmas?" he asked. "Going up to Whistler or Vail like the rest of the trustfund brats?"

Tim appeared as relieved about the subject change. "We don't really celebrate Christmas. We're kind of Jewish."

"Is that like being kind of pregnant?"

He threw a book at Conner. "It means I had a bar mitzvah because it meant having a big schmooze-fest of a birthday party. Dad and Dana always go to Switzerland for the winter holidays."

"Cool. So around December, Swiss crime rates go do. Everyone can feel safe about their cuckoo clocks again."

His friend fidgeted. "I... I'm not going."

Rearing back, Conner asked, "Why not? I was six the last time I went there but it was totally awesome and you know if a six-year-old thinks a place is awesome, it really, really is."

"They used to ask all the time but it was... I don't really like to cramp their style," said Tim. "Plus I have work here. It's a lot easier without them around to look at my curfew and we usually webcam a few times."

This, _this_ was why his best bud was so screwed in the head. "You're coming home with me for Christmas. We'll make it Christmukkuh or something," said Conner and that was final.

* * *

When Conner initially proposed Tim's visit, Clark didn't bat an eye. He wanted to meet his son's so called best friend outside of the League uniform. They were an odd pair even at work-- Superboy was sunshine to Robin's moonlight. He wondered if Tim Drake's personality out of uniform differed.

A boisterous trio of relatives welcomed the boys when they stepped off the plane at Metropolis. Martha and Clark engulfed Tim in the same hug as Conner. His son then immediately tore away to lift his entirely too pregnant aunt into a twirl.

"You're lucky I don't barf as often any more," she said after covering his cheeks in kisses.

"Just when I got used to that sour burrito smell," he teased back.

"We're going to celebrate Christmas at the condo," said Clark. "We didn't want to risk driving to the farm with all this snow and besides, it's just family this year. Present company excepted."

Conner punched Tim's arm. "I told him he can borrow my family this year since his is partying in Europe, served hand-and-foot and carving freshly fallen powder. I mean, who wants to do something lame like that when he could bunk on a floor of a Midwestern flat?"

"You really grew up in a farm?" Tim asked Clark, wide-eyed.

The others laughed. "Are these all your bags, dear?" Martha asked their guest.

"Um, yes, ma'am."

Martha raised her eyebrows at Conner. "What a polite young man."

Conner kissed his grandmother again. "I carry on your culinary legacy. All chefs are temperamental and rude. Is Aunt Lo driving?" he asked.

"Like I trust your dad behind the wheel of a car," Lois said.

"You're in for a treat," Conner told his friend. "Bruce's special car has nothing compared to Metropolis traffic in the winter during rush hour with Aunt Lo at the wheel."

"Watch it, kiddo. I can still return your presents."

Clark rubbed Lois' neck as he fondly listened to his family bickering. It was nice to have Conner home and, more importantly, back to his old self. His jokes didn't seem forced and his smile shone through his eyes.

Once at the condo, he brought out extra blankets and set up a cot in Conner's room. His mom was in her element with not one but two teenage boys to feed. Tim vacuumed lunch at least as well as Conner despite his slighter frame. Martha missed her grandson too much to admonish them for speaking with their mouths full. In mid-bite, Conner decided he had to show off as well. Apparently, he spent an occasional day off with the aging but patient Alfred, learning a few culinary tricks. He called his creation The Mount Everest Nachos.

After dinner, Tim presented Lois with a thick, fuzzy shawl. He made to root around some more but Clark stopped him. "That can wait. Unless these are Hanukkah gifts?"

"No, they're just thank-you presents, really. I don't practice devoutly or anything."

"In that case, we have extra wrapping paper if you need it. Amazingly, Grandma didn't use it all up for your presents." He slapped Conner on the back. The boy sucked in his breath. Clark's eyes narrowed. That was a pain sound. "Are you okay, son?"

"Yeah. Just slept weird on the plane."

He crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Take off your shirt."

"Dad! We're in the middle of dinner."

"Either I see what made you wince or I look through your shirt."

Sighing, Conner slid off his chair and led the way to his room. Clark didn't miss the boy's grimace as he pulled his shirt off. Patches of yellow-purple bruises covered his side. Blood thundered in his ears. Batman did this to his son. Batman _hurt_ his son!

Conner tugged at his arm. "Dad, it's okay! It'll go away."

"How in God's name did he manage to--" His stomach flipped. "He has kryptonite."

"Oh Conner." Martha bit her lip in concern.

"It's part of training."

"I did not send you to him to act as a glorified punching bag!"

"I'm not, I swear. I was just careless and he got a hit in."

"Was he wearing kryptonite-lined boots?" At Conner's uncertain pause, Clark shot off to Gotham intent on showing Bruce Wayne exactly what he did to child abusers. And to think the man had actually been entrusted with training two boys! He should be brought in, no lauded the psychopathic little--

Conner caught up to him, yanking on his shirt. "Dad, I'm fine!"

"Bruising is _not_ fine," Clark snapped. "For us to get bruising that lasts more than a few minutes requires chronic kryptonite poisoning. Are you checking your food before you eat?"

"It's nothing Jor-el didn't do to you."

"That comparison just cost you this debate."

Gotham's steel and cement spires reached out underneath them. Clark reached out with all his senses, searching, ignoring Conner's frustrated yelps of "Da-ad!" Guns popped every few minutes, sirens wailed but went ignored, financial analysts traded vulgar insults with back-alley drug dealers. A mile away near the Artist's Village, a gangster's scream for help against The Batman ended abruptly as a boot crunched his teeth in. Clark rocketed off again.

Even now, furious as he was, he tempered his landing so that Bruce only slammed against the building on the other side of the street. Clark grabbed him by the collar before he bounced off the fifth story into oncoming traffic.

"We're a thousand metres above the ground. Don't struggle." he said. He was quite proud of how calm his voice was.

"Get the fuck out of my city," said Bruce.

"As soon as you give me the kryptonite you've been using to torture my child."

"Torture? Is that what he told you?" Bruce snorted. "Typical meta, relying so much on their powers that a little rock--"

Clark drew him up, glare-to-glare. "You will never get near my child again."

"Dad!" Conner caught up, panting. His eyes widened at the sight. "Um, Dad, what are you doing?"

"I'm not sure. There are dozens of choices going through my head, all of which end with Batman twitching on the pavement like a worm through a lawnmower. It's hard to choose."

Bruce's glare narrowed. "Only dozen? I can come up with a hundred ways to turn you into paste."

"So you decided to practice on my son first?"

"_You_ sent him to _me_."

"Against my better judgement."

"Considering how doubtful most of your judgements are, I'm not too surprised."

Clark extended his arm, turned Bruce upside down and shook him like a salt dispenser.

"_Dad!_" Conner swooped in and tried to get between them. "Dad, it's okay. It was just part of the training, honest. It doesn't really hurt me--" Clark snorted, making Conner blush and amend his statement. "Okay, so it really does hurt me but the kryptonite exposure has good reason. I mean, how many times do you have to sit something out because of GK? We were trying to see if I could form some sort of immunity against it."

"It's physically impossible," said Clark.

"We know that now," Bruce groused.

"You could have asked but no, that would be too easy and painless, wouldn't it? Conn, get your things. You're going home."

Over Conner's protest came Bruce's lashed response. "You're making him soft."

"No, I believe it's _you_ how tenderises teenage boys under the guise of bootcamp."

"I've seen the vids. The first time Superboy went into the field, Luthor shot a cannon through his abdomen." Clark's eyes blazed red in remembrance but Bruce heedlessly continued. "You let a teenage civilian in a Kevlar jacket go through a red zone and he almost died. Par for course with you, alien, relying on your powers at the expense of everything else. To top it all off, you only act with your emotions, no strategies or forethought. You're not fit to father any more--"

Before Clark could respond, Conner flew up in Bruce's face. "It wasn't his fault! I was stupid and I went in against orders. Don't you fucking _dare_ shoot my dad down for being too emotional 'cause from what I've seen so far, Bats, you're one fucking hell of a soldier but you suck as a father."

Clark placed a hand on his arm. "Kon-el, breathe."

"No! Where does he get off saying you're not a good father? You're the _best_ father _ever!_ Even when I think you're the biggest dork in the world, I'm so fucking proud to be your son."

Tears sheened Clark's eyes and threatened to fall over. Since he'd embarrassed his son enough for today, he blinked them away. "So what are you saying, you want me to drop him?"

"Well, it's Christmas. How about we drop this in celebration of the holidays?"

"Seeing as how I'm the best father ever, I can find it in myself to indulge you this once." Clark returned his attention to Bruce. "If I ever see bruising like that on him ever again, ninja or no ninja, I'm going to wreck you, do you understand?"

"Bring me back to my crime scene and get the hell out of my city," was Bruce reply.

"That means yes," said Conner. "After a few months, you learn to read between the lines."

With a sigh, Clark hooked his hands under Batman's arms and made his way back down to a more reasonable height. "The fact that you understand him frightens me."

* * *

Over the next few days, the usual friends sent well-wishes, mostly by phone. Since video-phones became the norm, calls were more satisfying, in Clark's opinion although Lois grumbled about having to put on makeup every time she picked up a call. Bart came in person with Ollie's daughter, Cissie, to drop off presents from the West Coast contingent. Wonder Woman herself visited with her wife. Lois and Etta got along as famously as always, leaving Clark and Diana to half-jokingly set the countdown for Doomsday.

Four days before Christmas, Clark returned from his patrol-- Conner took half his shifts during this visit-- to find the condo decorated as cosily as the farm house. Martha and the boys had put them up while Lois warbled rock Christmas anthems. Cinnamon and pine scented every cranny. They even made the Charlie Brown Christmas tree look nice but then Martha Kent had always had that magical touch.

As promised, they celebrated Christmas Eve and Christmas Day intimately. In the morning, they walked to Centennial Park to skate on the outdoor rink. Lois drank hot chocolate and took pictures from the sidelines, shouting tips while Clark while Conner and Tim chased each other around the rest of the skaters. Martha floated along more sedately, rejecting Conner's offers to pull her along. Clark stopped every few laps to kiss Lois. Conner made vomiting noises in the background. The boys built several forts on the roof made of snow and furniture then fought a complex snowball campaign against each other until Clark called them in so that Santa could land his sleigh.

Of course, between all of that was a seven-car pile-up on the highway then a desperate man holding up a bank. Atlas showed up just outside Metropolis, determined to break into what he insisted was a weapons depot hidden in the middle of farmland. Then, Conner used their Christmas ham to take out the leader in a gang shoot-out. To top it all off, a fire broke out at the warehouse district at three in the morning. But all in all, Clark reflected as he held Lois close on Christmas morning, it was wonderful.

* * *

Because Poison Ivy and Harlequin waited for no man when they, Conner missed several visits in January. He made up for it by working with Alfred in the kitchen to pick up tips for his four-day vacation. The old guy knew everything about everything; no wonder Bruce ended up so smart. On the other hand, Alfred had a sense of humour.

Conner watched Alfred choose spices from a tray with thirty-six little steel bowls. "Tandoori is a fine art, Master Conner," he said.

"They sell pre-mixed spices, y'know."

Alfred sniffed. "Those are all right if you have no other choice. Who knows how long they've been in those packets; their flavours are likely half gone thus the need for an entire packet of spices as opposed to smaller yet more powerful flavours. Taste this."

He obediently chewed on a cilantro leaf.

"No dried mix could give you that sharpness. Now, if you'll separate the leaves then mince the stalks, we can add it to the rub."

"Aunt Lo's going to flip," Conner said. "She's got super-tastebuds or something. Everything she eats is like the best food in the world so now she's eating all the time. Good thing the baby burns most of it off or she'd have to get a new wardrobe every month. Not that I think she's fat; she's just... really pregnant. What's that? It looks cool."

"Star anise." Alfred stopped chopping for half a second. "This is late but I would like to thank you for inviting Master Timothy to your family's holiday celebrations."

Blushing, Conner said, "It was nothing."

"Oh but it is a great deal of something," said Alfred. "That boy's parents manage to take care of endangered wildlife and war-torn villages overseas but they pay little enough attention to caring for their son. He's come here a few times but I'm afraid we're no better at old-fashioned holiday cheer."

"I'm sure it's great," Conner offered. As he searched for more to say, his cellphone rang. According to the screen and ringtone, it was his dad. "Heya, Pops. How're things?"

He heard his dad take a couple deep swallows. "Son, we're taking your Aunt Lo to the hospital."

Conner's legs turned to Jell-o. "Is it the baby?" In his peripheral vision, he saw Alfred set down his knife.

"The baby seems to be okay but Aunt Lo's flu turned into what looks like pneumonia. The health team want to observe them both while Lois is on antibiotics. They're flying in to MGH--"

"I can take them."

"You've got school and training."

"But this is Aunt Lo. It'll take half an hour tops."

In the end, Clark agreed; Conner would have left anyway no matter what. He made his excuses to a very understanding Alfred then flew to New York City to pick up both Dr. Khang and Dr. Chapel.

The wait outside the room was all too familiar. His collar felt too tight and his eyes burned. He couldn't go through this again. He couldn't watch his dad and aunt's hopes literally die for the third time. As he paced the halls, he contemplated going to the Fortress. Maybe Jor-el would be able to do something. Kryptonians had birthing matrices; maybe the Fortress could sustain a human-kryptonian hybrid. It could do almost everything else.

Appearing quietly beside him, Martha pressed a cup of hot cocoa in his hands. He leaned into her shoulder as she put her arms around him and pressed his lips against his temples.

"Why does all this horrible stuff keep happening to us? It's not fair. We bust our asses helping the world and all they want is a baby. That's _all_. A stupid, basic requirement for life and they have to go through a friggin' gauntlet to get it."

"My sweet, sweet boy. You're being so brave." She brushed his bangs off his eyes.

"I don't feel brave. I feel... I _still_ feel useless. What good is my stupid hard-core training now?"

"Conner, look at me." When he was slow to obey, she tilted his head up by cupping his chin. "Whatever happens, I know you've given your dad and Aunt Lo so much joy and pride. I think part of the reason they finally decided to have a child is because they've had so much fun with you."

The door to Lois' room opened and Pieter Cross stepped through. He smiled at them. "They're both fine. Lois is still running a fever but the baby isn't in any distress. We've titrated the antibiotics and immunosuppressants to a good balance and Beth and Etta are monitoring them both to make sure the situation doesn't change." His smile widened when he saw the evident relief of their faces. "The ultrasound machine is still in there if you want to meet the baby."

Conner rushed inside. Martha followed at a more sedate pace. As Dr. Cross said, the ultrasound machine sat beside Lois' bed along with several other monitors. Not that Conner cared about all the other monitors. The image on the ultrasound screen completely enraptured him. A snub-nosed face with a dusting of hair filled most of the screen. The baby held one fist to its face and its cheeks worked around the thumb. "Oh wow."

Clark reached out, blindly groping for his shoulder. Conner stepped closer. "Meet your baby sister."

"Oh wow." He touched the screen, tracing the line along her cheek. "Heya, two-bit."

"She's almost as gorgeous as you are," said Lois, with a little hiccup in her voice. "Goddammit. I hate pregnancy hormones."

"Here's the audio for the latecomers." Etta switched the speakers on. The rapid, shallow thumping of the baby's heart filled the room. "We'll keep the Doppler mat on your belly and leave you folks alone for a while."

Conner barely noticed them exiting.

Long minutes later, Lois spoke up. "I was thinking. Some of Gabriel's stuff is still in boxes. Y'know, the personal things like the receiving blanket and the teddy bears. Maybe... maybe we should go down to the shelter and donate them."

Clark squeezed her hand. "You're sure?"

"It's time," she said softly. "This baby isn't a replacement and I don't want her to be surrounded by things that have baggage. The crib and all of that can stay but we need to-- I'm thinking we should repaint the nursery, too. None of the pastel crap. I want a big mural on the ceiling so the munchkin has something to look at when she's in bed."

Brushing his fingers through her hair, he said, "It's going to be all right, Lois."

"I know." She looked up at him and smiled. "When you look like that, I can believe in anything."

"And when the two of you talk like that, it makes me want to puke at everything," said Conner.

Clark pulled him into a headlock. Martha joined the embrace, laughing. The world was good.


	14. Chapter 14

Lois stared at her nude reflection in the mirror. Her hair, still wet from her shower, stuck fast to her chest and back, sending rivulets down her body. The only adornment she had was her bracelet; the stone sparkled with water droplets. She stuck her tongue out at the reflection. Her cheekbones stood out sharply, her elbows and knees were spikes compared to the basketball roundness of her belly. She didn't mind the belly, not really, but she wished where someone would invent some sort of sling to help carry the weight. Ultrasounds showed that the baby was actually small for thirty-four weeks but quite dense, resulting in a higher-then-average gestational weight. Thank you very much, kryptonian genes. Her belly was completely spherical due to the greater amount of amniotic fluid. Apparently, the baby realised she needed more protection than usual and so Lois retained water like a camel. Her pelvic bones shifted early this week, officially heralding her pregnant-waddle. She couldn't remember the last time she saw her toes.

Then again, there was something to be said about how satisfyingly womanly she felt in this baby-wielding body. She loved the maternity clothes, especially the clingy stuff that silently proclaimed "Look at me! I'm successfully holding life in here!" Her body exuded fertility.

She did the Demi Moore pregnant pose. Demi Moore probably airbrushed the stretch marks out. Switching to a front view, she attempted the Christina Aguilera pregnant pose which wasn't really fair because she wasn't lying down nor did she have a lollipop. She wasn't even going to try the Angelina Jolie pregnancy pose. Her hands splayed on her belly. Little Whatsit punched feebly at them. Thirty-four whole weeks and the kid hung in tight. Even with the anemia, the never-ending morning sickness and the immunosuppressants, she clung tenaciously to Lois' womb. Whatsit was a fighter, Lois thought to herself, and fell even more in love with the child.

Slowly, she trailed her hands from her abdomen to her breasts. She cupped them, humming in a critical manner. Through those awkward teenage years, she'd hated them. Having a relatively big rack in an army base which when your dad was the boss created a split personality of sorts. On the one hand, the ninety percent male population treated her like a tall drink of water out of a golden cup when the General wanted her to toughen up. On the other hand, the ninety-percent male population had treated her like a tall drink of water out of a golden cup during a time when she desperately needed approval. Lois reached her mid-twenties before she accepted that she had large breasts for her frame and this was okay. After all, her boy liked them.

Speaking of her boy...

Clark leaned against the door jamb, hands in his pockets. "You're lucky my mom's out on a business dinner. Are you finished admiring yourself, yet?"

"Not quite." She lifted her breasts up. "I think I'm getting saggy."

"You aren't."

"I am. My nipples are huge."

"You didn't have milk in them before. You have beautiful breasts." His glasses fogged slightly.

Slightly mollified, Lois faced the mirror again. "I wasn't complaining about the nipples. They were on the small side before. I'm really going to have to kick my ass to get my figure back though. Middle-aged muscle just doesn't recover quickly from flab like this. I'm all misshapen. Also, don't get freaked out but I think I'm growing hair down my buttcrack."

"You're beautiful," said Clark, firmly, resolutely.

"But my butt is getting hairy."

"Beautiful."

"My ankles are slowly disappearing into my calves."

"Gorgeous."

"And I think I'm getting stretchmarks on my vaj. How is that even possible?"

"Sublime." He pressed up behind her now, his hands over hers, slowly tracing the curved underside of each breast. He had paws compared to her and Lois was no petite china doll. Yet such was his strength that he didn't form calluses; the pads of his hands were soft, pink, silken. His knuckles barely grazed her aureoles. Their twined hands created a primitive bodice, the Kawatche gem glowing faintly. She shivered and shifted her stance to let him slip his trouser-clad leg between her naked ones. The image in the mirror was so erotic: herself naked and overwhelmingly ripe; Clark, a jacket short of a full three-piece suit. He was dark against the peach of her skin, sharp angles to her rounded curves.

Lois stared at her nude reflection in the mirror. Her hair, still wet from her shower, stuck fast to her chest and back, sending rivulets down her body. The only adornment she had was her bracelet; the stone sparkled with water droplets. She stuck her tongue out at the reflection. Her cheekbones stood out sharply, her elbows and knees were spikes compared to the basketball roundness of her belly. She didn't mind the belly, not really, but she wished where someone would invent some sort of sling to help carry the weight. Ultrasounds showed that the baby was actually small for thirty-four weeks but quite dense, resulting in a higher-then-average gestational weight. Thank you very much, kryptonian genes. Her belly was completely spherical due to the greater amount of amniotic fluid. Apparently, the baby realised she needed more protection than usual and so Lois retained water like a camel. Her pelvic bones shifted early this week, officially heralding her pregnant-waddle. She couldn't remember the last time she saw her toes.

Then again, there was something to be said about how satisfyingly womanly she felt in this baby-wielding body. She loved the maternity clothes, especially the clingy stuff that silently proclaimed "Look at me! I'm successfully holding life in here!" Her body exuded fertility.

She did the Demi Moore pregnant pose. Demi Moore probably airbrushed the stretch marks out. Switching to a front view, she attempted the Christina Aguilera pregnant pose which wasn't really fair because she wasn't lying down nor did she have a lollipop. She wasn't even going to try the Angelina Jolie pregnancy pose. Her hands splayed on her belly. Little Whatsit punched feebly at them. Thirty-four whole weeks and the kid hung in tight. Even with the anemia, the never-ending morning sickness and the immunosuppressants, she clung tenaciously to Lois' womb. Whatsit was a fighter, Lois thought to herself, and fell even more in love with the child.

Slowly, she trailed her hands from her abdomen to her breasts. She cupped them, humming in a critical manner. Through those awkward teenage years, she'd hated them. Having a relatively big rack in an army base which when your dad was the boss created a split personality of sorts. On the one hand, the ninety percent male population treated her like a tall drink of water out of a golden cup when the General wanted her to toughen up. On the other hand, the ninety-percent male population had treated her like a tall drink of water out of a golden cup during a time when she desperately needed approval. Lois reached her mid-twenties before she accepted that she had large breasts for her frame and this was okay. After all, her boy liked them.

Speaking of her boy...

Clark leaned against the door jamb, hands in his pockets. "You're lucky my mom's out on a business dinner. Are you finished admiring yourself, yet?"

"Not quite." She lifted her breasts up. "I think I'm getting saggy."

"You aren't."

"I am. My nipples are huge."

"You didn't have milk in them before. You have beautiful breasts." His glasses fogged slightly.

Slightly mollified, Lois faced the mirror again. "I wasn't complaining about the nipples. They were on the small side before. I'm really going to have to kick my ass to get my figure back though. Middle-aged muscle just doesn't recover quickly from flab like this. I'm all misshapen. Also, don't get freaked out but I think I'm growing hair down my buttcrack."

"You're beautiful," said Clark, firmly, resolutely.

"But my butt is getting hairy."

"Beautiful."

"My ankles are slowly disappearing into my calves."

"Gorgeous."

"And I think I'm getting stretchmarks on my vaj. How is that even possible?"

"Sublime." He pressed up behind her now, his hands over hers, slowly tracing the curved underside of each breast. He had paws compared to her and Lois was no petite china doll. Yet such was his strength that he didn't form calluses; the pads of his hands were soft, pink, silken. His knuckles barely grazed her aureoles. Their twined hands created a primitive bodice, the Kawatche gem glowing faintly. She shivered and shifted her stance to let him slip his trouser-clad leg between her naked ones. The image in the mirror was so erotic: herself naked and overwhelmingly ripe; Clark, a jacket short of a full three-piece suit. He was dark against the peach of her skin, sharp angles to her rounded curves.

"Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself, in you I wrap a thousand onward years, on you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me," Clark quoted in between feather-light kisses on her nape and shoulders.

Lois' lips curled up. "Oh really? And if I were lacking, would it be the moisture of the right man lacking? That sounds so wrong and pervy."

"Mmmm." His breath tickled her ear.

She rocked on his thigh, back arched as she looped her arms up and around his neck. When he moaned at the sight, her smile grew. "Are we starting something we can't finish?"

Clark groaned. "This isn't fair. You're so... I want to touch you all the time and I can't."

"I'm sure we can get creative."

"But your doctors said--"

"Did they specify penetration? I'm pretty sure they just nixed penetration; we can still play." Lois ground her bottom against his groin. "I want to play, Clarkie."

"Lo-is!" The last syllable came out as a hiss. "Sweetheart, you're driving me crazy." His hands swept down to her hips and, holding her steady, he rubbed his knee between her thighs. "Arms and hands of love-- lips of love-- phallic thumb of love-- breasts of love-- bellies press'd and glued together with love."

He rolled one of her nipples, at the same time, pressed his knee up against her. Pleasure shot up from her womb and Lois' legs buckled. God, she loved pregnancy! She loved how pregnancy pretty much turned her entire body into a giant nerve-ending.

"Earth of chaste love-- life that is only life after love, the body of my love-- the body of the woman I love-- the body of the man-- the body of the earth." Clark's erection poked at the small of her back. He sucked on the tendons of her neck, his tongue hot against her skin as he traced curls along her sides. Lois pulled at his chin so she could kiss him properly. With a delicate flick of her tongue, she caressed the roof of his mouth.

That was the breaking point. Clark scooped her up in his arms and super-sped to the bedroom. Lois was already popping the buttons on his pants. "I won't go in," he panted. "I just... I just need... I need..."

"Me too, me too, oh god, oh god, wait, wait, _wait_." She screeched the last word.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Clark immediately withdrew.

"You didn't do anything. Being on my back just pinches everything." Lois rolled to her side. Her back did _not_ like the missionary. "Let's rethink this. What if we do it side by side?"

"If we're not doing, um, penetration, that's a pretty awkward position. Can you sit up maybe and I'll just..." Clark touched his mouth and wiggled his eyebrows. He was just too precious; he quoted Walt Whitman at her but had to turn the phrase "oral sex" into a round of charades.

"What about you?" she asked.

Sighing, he said, "I'll be fine."

"How can you be fine? We haven't boogied in _months_. My libido is so high, everything is Freudian. Did you know I think I actually orgasmed eating a cheesecake?"

Clark blushed. "Erm. Uh. Yes. Well, the doctor-- all the doctors-- said we shouldn't so I just... took care of it a few times. To be quite honest, I've been so worried about you that I haven't had the urge, really."

Lois poked his chest. "You better still see me as sexy after this is all over. I don't want to be a Madonna on a pedestal just because I gave birth."

"Do you not see the state I'm in? Madonna is hardly the word I'd use unless you mean the singer, not the religious figure." His gaze lowered and Lois suddenly remembered she was splayed on a bed, probably quite debauched-looking.

"What if," she said, "I take care of you and you take care of me and together, we can recite literary pornography at each other until we spontaneously combust?"

They never made it through an entire poem.

* * *

When he really stopped to think about it, Conner realised that Ollie spent so much time visiting Metropolis, he might as well still live at Queen Towers. He was practically family. He mentioned that fact as he, Ollie and Martha re-painted the nursery. To his delight, Ollie blushed.

"Uh, you sure Lois' hormones aren't leaking over? I've heard of sympathy pains but not sympathy mood swings," he blustered to cover up his embarrassment.

Conner let glue from his paintbrush drip on Ollie's head. These days, his control over his E-field was such that he could float for long periods of time instead of just shooting between places. "Fine, if you're going to be that way. I was going to propose Olivia as a name."

"I told you before, Olivia is a disgusting name. I can barely tolerate Oliver and it's mine."

"Oliver's a fine name for a fine man," said Martha.

"See? If Grandma says it, it's true," Conner said.

Ollie turned the same rosy stain he was using on the floor mouldings. He quickly changed the subject. "How's the mural turning out?"

"Check it out yourself." Conner floated back down on the floor, looking up with everyone. A cartoon galaxy spun around a grinning sun under which the crib would stand. In the far corner over the rocking chair was the Crab Nebula, the remnants of a star gone supernova as Krypton's sun had. While the light show from that explosion wouldn't reach Earth for thousands of years yet, the circumstances around the nebula's explosion echoed that of Rao, Krypton's sun. Grace designed the image and Ollie found someone who could turn the artwork into wallpaper which Conner now applied to the nursery ceiling.

"That's beautiful," Martha said. "With the lovely warm yellow on the walls and the dark wood furniture, this will be the best nursery yet. And I'll have to agree with Conner, Oliver; you _are_ family."

"Thanks, Martha." If Conner didn't know better, he'd've sworn his boss' eyes galzed with emotion. Ollie cleared his throat and said, "I meant to tell you this tomorrow when you came into the Watchtower but what the hell. You've got great control over your powers now and your dedication to Batman's regime, while completely insane, has been consistently good. You may have noticed that we're letting you participate in harder missions."

Conner's mouth pulled up into a grin. He knew what was coming. He just _knew_ what was coming.

"Consider yourself re-instated into Young Justice."

With a whoop, Conner did a back flip off an unpainted wall. His grandmother laughed and Ollie chuckled with her.

"Down boy!" he said, "Should you be doing that when you've barely recovered from Grumpy's House of Grimness? I'm not going to take you off the roster for injury."

"I haven't seen anyone this excited about going back to work since..." Martha paused. "I've never seen anyone this excited about going back to work. Not even you, Ollie."

"Hey, between Clark and Bruce, I think I'm a pretty good mentor. I certainly dress better." Ollie fastidiously dusted his shoulders.

Conner wagged his head. "Dude, there is totally no way to respond to that statement without my ass getting whooped. I say we get back to painting the nursery."

"Diplomatic." Ollie nodded at Martha. "He gets that from you."

Conner's cheeks reddened to the same hue as the crest on his uniform as his grandmother gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Really, having Ollie as a pseudo-uncle was one thing but having the boss witness his family being mushy was totally mortifying.

* * *

The due date inched closer and closer, arrived, and went by without incident. Since the pneumonia scare on Week Twenty-Eight, she and Clark met with her health team met twice a week. They were now on Week Forty-Three. A frustrated Lois flipped her bangs away from her face. "I know you all worked very hard to make sure this baby didn't miscarry but this waiting game is driving me nuts. Is she mature enough to be born or not?"

Etta, Chapel and Pieter exchanged looks. "Normally, we would have induced four weeks ago," said Chapel slowly. "The baby's heartbeat is strong and there's a lot of movement but considering Kon-el had a twelve-month gestational period, I'd rather err on the side of caution."

"She's constantly tired," said Clark. He lifted Lois' arm up. "Look at her watch. It's on the smallest setting and it's still loose. Some days, she barely makes it out of bed. My son is attending _Batman_ College to make sure he can take pick up my League shifts."

"You're not doing much better," Lois retorted. "You're taking on too much juggling two jobs and fussing care of me. Your mom's living with us for a reason."

"It's not fussing if you need it. Mom can't fly you to the hospital in under a minute. The doctors said as far as they can tell by the ultrasound, the baby may be mature enough to be born."

"Okay, so Batman College is extreme but I'm sure I'll go into labour soon."

"Lois!"

"Clark!"

Etta waited for the exchange of glares to subside. "There are a lot of things that scans still can't predict like lung maturity and gut development. In my experience, the baby will tell you when it's ready to go out."

"If I may speak as Lois' GP, I think we have to come to a compromise," said Pieter. "I know the baby may not be fully mature but considering the physical and psychosocial distress Lois is under right now--"

"Emphasis on psycho," Lois interjected.

"-- I think we should induce within the next two weeks. We don't have the drugs Luthor gave Ms. Lang. Quite frankly, after what I've read about the man's bioengineering R&D, I wouldn't try his findings if it promised to cure cancer. This may be the best we can do with what we have."

"Thank you," said Clark.

"Ultimately, it's up to you, Lois," said Chapel. "There are pros and cons to waiting as well as inducing. There may even be pros and cons we haven't thought of just because this is such a ground-breaking--"

"Special," Etta amended.

"-- pregnancy."

Lois looked down at her crossed arms. She tapped a staccato rhythm as she mulled her options.

"You don't have to make this decision now," Pieter said. "Have a think over the next couple days. We'll reconvene in a couple days anyway."

But she shook her head. "I don't need that much time; I already know my answer. I want to induce." She smiled wryly as Clark let out a relieved sigh. Questions hovered behind his eyes but he stayed silent until the health team ironed out details. Then he pulled her aside.

"Why?" he asked. "All these months, you've been so concentrated on making sure the baby's healthy at the expense of what you want. I was so sure you'd wait it out."

"A while ago, a certain plaid-loving someone said if anything happened to me, Mom wouldn't have a daughter, City would fall apart in two minutes, and my husband and son would be utterly destroyed." She shifted in his arms to kiss under his jaw. "I couldn't do that to them."

Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. "Thank you. Conn's cooking is horrible when he's depressed."

As they headed out, Etta pulled on Clark's sleeve. "Do you know a good, natural way to induce labour? Have intercourse."

Laughing, Lois pulled her into a tight hug. "I really, _really_ like you."

"Yeah? Sorry but I'm spoken for."

Suddenly, inexplicably, Lois burst into tears. A perturbed Clark whisked her out of the room, knowing she hated to let anyone see her cry. In a few minutes, they were in the barn-loft in Smallville. Dust mushroomed into the air as they fell into the old couch.

"Hormones?" Clark asked tentatively.

"Yes!" Lois punched the couch and a smaller dust cloud puffed up. "No! Maybe? I just... It's been two years of hard work and drama and now I said I'd give birth-- or rather, cut the baby out of me early and then we'll meet her if nothing goes wrong but something always seems to go wrong and even if it doesn't, I have no idea how to raise small children and I don't think Conner counts 'cause he came pre-grown and I just had to smooth around the edges and even that I couldn't do or else he wouldn't've been dating two girls at the same time and I'm going to be an awful mother!" The diatribe ended in a wail and multiple attacks on the innocent old couch.

"Lois." Clark tried to hold her again but she pushed him away.

"Even now, I'm snotting up your shirt and crying for no real reason except that I'm fucking petrified. I'm so scared, Clark. I'm not supposed to be scared."

"Said who?"

"Said... said me."

"I guess if Lois Lane says it, it must be true." Clark tipped her chin up. "It's okay to be scared."

Stubbornly she shook her head. "It's my job to be strong for you, remember? I can't be strong for you if I'm a whining bag of drugs and amniotic fluid."

"Oh Lois."

"Oh Smallville." She wiped her nose with a sleeve then she inhaled, blinked and hiccupped. "Oh, my _God_ that was a rush! That was like an emotional exorcism. Twenty months of repressed whining burst out of me like the Hoover Dam broke in two."

Clark laughed. "You're certifiable, you know that, Lane? I couldn't have predicted that reaction from you so, of course, you'd do it."

"We're a team. I hold you up, you hold me up and together, we limp to the finish line, giving the losers the finger as we go."

"I wouldn't give anyone the finger."

She patted his chest. "Of course not, cutesome. That's why I give them both fingers. You stand there in your tight tights and look pretty for the cameras."

Sternly, Clark said, "You're avoiding your meltdown. It was only five seconds ago."

"Geez, I just lost it! Pregnant women lose it. I'm probably going to ask you to fetch me three prickly pears and a kumquat fresh off the shrub next."

"True but only to avoid talking about your meltdown."

Lois glared. "You know me too well."

He pulled her into his arms and this time she didn't resist. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Please?"

So she did. And it was glorious.

* * *

Contributions from the same groups funding the Watchtower provided S.T.A.R. Labs with private access to one of the best maternity wards in western Canada. Having the operation anywhere in the States was too risky. At the same time, the health team wanted to work in a setting where English was the primary language. At Week Forty-Four and Three Days, half a dozen people had descended into Star City on the Californian coast where a plane waited to take them north. Lois, Clark and Conner were there, of course, with Martha Kent. Bart and Vic shared a two-four to dull their nerves.

"Geez, I didn't know I was having a baby shower," Lois said, staring at the gathering in Ollie's living room.

"News of your immanent delivery spread like a bad rash in our incredibly small circle of friends," said Bart.

"Clark called you all?" Lois guessed.

"He must've been working three phones at the same time." Bart studied Clark's countenance. "I think he wanted enough people around to catch him when he faints."

"You mean if he faints."

"Nope, I mean _when_. The Boy Scout looks like a sneeze could topple him over."

Ollie entered the room, arms spread magnanimously. "I have cigars, brandy and shiny new snifters. We can board the plane now."

"What about the health team?" Clark demanded.

"They're already at the hospital prepping. You're worrying too much. Everything's going to be fine, Boy Scout." Ollie slapped him on the back. Clark swayed.

In the two hours it took to fly from Star City to Vancouver, the sky had darkened to deep velvet blue. City lights and pointed evergreen branches blurred through the car windows. The party drove several cars each taking different routes to the hospital. Clark and Lois wouldn't be separated, of course, but Conner put up such a fuss that Vic navigated their car down the same route. In civilian gear, they went through the staff entrance, avoiding crowds and elevators as much as possible.

Pieter met Lois and Clark in the waiting room just outside the OR. A makeshift wall with a sign proclaiming "Under Renovation" blocked the room and its short hallway from the rest of the ward. "Clark, wash vigorously up to your elbows. There's a sink and soap in the room. Lois, change into the hospital gown. You're going to get your epidural now."

"Wow, that's one hell of a welcome to the country," said Lois.

"The sooner it goes in, the sooner it'll work and the faster we can get the baby out," said Pieter. To Clark, he added, "We'll also need your help during prep to see the baby's position."

Clark nodded.

"Is he all right?" Pieter asked Lois.

"He's been getting quieter and quieter since we landed," said Lois. "I think he's having an absence seizure."

"That's a little better than fainting, I guess."

"But by how much?"

Clark was actually frozen by the complete certainty that either Lois or the baby or both would die tonight. He couldn't shake the thought. His hands shook as he lathered his arms up to his elbows in disinfectant soap. The flimsy ties on his gown tore; he went through two gowns, three masks and four caps. Thankfully, the nitrile gloves held. As he washed up, Pieter helped Lois onto the operating table.

"We're going to give your epidural now," he said. "Go on your side and curl your knees up as high as possible."

"Oh sure. 'cause that'll happen with a baby in my stomach," said Lois.

"Just do your best." Pieter gestured to the anaesthetist who rolled in a small ultrasound imager "Breathe deeply and regularly; if you tense up, it'll hurt more."

Clark appeared at Lois' side and held her hand. "I've had a long history with pain. I'm pretty sure I can handle a needle in my--OW! Fuck!" Lois yelped.

"Finished," said Pieter. "Now the catheter for your bladder."

Lois buried her head in Clark's chest. "This is a level of intimacy I never wanted us to reach."

He kissed her forehead, still unable to speak. By the time Conner entered, Lois had all her lines in and a curtain had been raised just under her arms, blocking her view of the operation site. There seemed to be an excess of people in the room-- Etta headed the operation with Beth Chapel and Pieter Cross attending, an anaesthetist from S.T.A.R. labs manned the monitor and three nurses prepped the equipment needed.

Etta pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. "Drag that over and sit by your aunt's head. Stay close so we all have easy access to the monitors and the IV, okay?"

Conner did as he was told. Clark sat on her other side, having given the health team a detailed description of the baby's position in the womb. He laid his head beside hers on the examination table. Minutes later, Conner did the same.

"Please don't die, Aunt Lo," he whispered brokenly. "I already lost one mom. I'm going to have serious issues if I lost you too."

Lois patted his cheek. "Stop that, both of you. I'm going to be fine. This time tomorrow, you're going to wonder why you worried so much."

"Okay, we're starting now," said Etta. "Let us know if you feel anything more severe than pressure."

Clark pressed his cheek closer to Lois and trembled, his breath coming out in ragged pants. Lois stroked their hair. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you--"

"Please don't take my sunshine away," Clark joined in.

Conner snuffled into the sheets. "Dad, you can't sing."

The anxiety in OR faded to the sound of chuckles.

* * *

The six individuals in the crude waiting room passed time in the following ways: Ollie, Vic and Diana played poker. Martha completed half the puzzles in her crossword book. Bart ate an endless amount of cafeteria food. Nothing made the two and a half hours shorten.

"Is it supposed to take this long?" Ollie demanded, referring to his watch again.

"Perhaps they are taking their time, being cautious," said Diana.

When Pieter exited the OR, his gown, cap and gloves shed, all six jumped to attention. "Mother and child are doing well," he said, beaming.

Martha leaned into Bart, the strength fleeing her knees. Vic let out a relieved puff of air.

"We thought you might want to say hello so we took a little extra time to clean up," Pieter explained. "Come on in."

All the equipment in the room except for the IV pole had been pushed to the periphery. Lois now lay on a new bed with a blanket tucked under her arms. At the head of the bed was Conner, on her right was Clark. All three were enraptured by the tiny swaddled person on Lois' chest.

Clark managed to wrench his attention away at the sound of his guests. "Hi," he said. "This is our daughter."

They crowded around. The baby slept, oblivious to the awe.

"Why does her skin look kind of..." Vic looked for a diplomatic way to say "scaly."

"She's got scales," said Lois. "Etta says her body's still a little mixed up-- the kryptonian genes are generating skin at a faster rate than she really needs. That's why she's slathered in emollients. She's our little lizard."

"She's beautiful," Martha declared. "You did a good job, Lois, honey."

"She did," Clark said, dropping down to kiss her once more.

"What will she be named?" asked Diana.

Clark, Lois and Conner looked at each other, stunned. Conner smacked his head with the palm of his hand. "Crap, I don't believe this! We still haven't decided on a name!"

_**~fin~**_


End file.
